Monday 3/09/2009 01:17:00 AM

Seeing the future in her pupils. Strict waterfalls. Chasing the barrels over the edge. The ocean. Humming in his chest. Time dilations. Fiddling with the loose algebra of skin. Toying with solving for x.

Blind hotels. Full of unknowing prostitutes. I'd open a window if that were possible. I'd sleep through the fire alarm given the chance. So the building could be empty as I begin to remember if I ever knew. Those broad strokes in their paper dresses. The thump of the canvas as it speculates on the colors we'll take home with us.

I wrote my only novely down my arm. In a cheap hotel not far from my house. A little razor. A little dick. Art enough for any museum.

I stayed behind as the world went on. Time dilation. Science whoring to the flesh. In vague streetlamps. And quick shots of bourbon. That almost make sense together.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.