28 Mar 2013, 6:38pm
Writing:
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Take Off Your Fucking Dress / Santa Clarita Valley

The sea is arresting. With a pair of hand-

cuffs and a spring jacket. It does no good to

cover it with a wealth of daisies, or put it in

the wilderness with a lab-coat. The sea is too

deep, and huge. It wants you to go back to

Santa Barbara, so get on your bicycle and

head west. In the sunlight, you can still

make Ojai if you hurry. Pick some oranges.

Over there they are still walking. With your

wife, your friend. And there are no barriers.

You enter the tomb and you lie down with

someone. On the roller-coaster at Six Flags.

The paseos really help. It is a long way to go

but you don’t mind it so much. Do you?

Our F— Who Art in Heaven… You come

with me. You can carry a paint-can inside

your pussy, die your insides jet black. We

will walk together. The look I’ve had is still

the East / Coast West / Coast. Still mine to

keep. In the summer. Take the space /

blindfold yourself. Wear a sweater, it doesn’t

matter. The look I’ve had is still. Hollow the

eyelids of your eyes. It doesn’t matter. I

always dream of others. Why are they not

bothering me now? (You bitch, but they are

you.) Where in heaven? Who will you know

there? Apostle? Many many many eyelids

don’t fit. How will I know it’s you?

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