26 Jun 2014, 9:11am
Writing
by

leave a comment

On the path to more speculation

Into the ball of hands
Down in the fatlipped conglomerates
Eating fish
Eating supple flesh secular

That ride is so crude
With strange muscles
But I want you on top of the dining room table
Licking my thumb

A knife is just a book
You close once,
Then over your shoulder when you’re done with it
It doesn’t have to be pretty
Or maybe because it is pretty
You want more of it

But the knife is no good

You cannot know and you do know
How I am feeling tonight, about you
It’s in this book

The knife is not knowing
Your neck is bleeding

You rub yourself with a knife
You read a book and maybe that will be your hatching

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>