Monday, July 13, 2009


Who, new-tongue
say it ain't so
Cast indecisive trifles from tip toed moments
and embrace the inner weird

Tell me I'm beautiful for who I am but
love me any-me, for who I strive to become
or what I say I will become or even
the me I dream about

Because I paint you those dreams and you taste them,
licking all my canvases, searching for the salt sweat
mingling with sweet promise, the pleasure and satisfaction
of Me realized then materialized then actualized then third eye'd,
and in turn I taste my own why's and what's and smell the cleaner air
I breathe easy for a while

Beautiful Sunday, 8 a.m window light requiem,
songbird orgasm, yellow, pale blue,
one moment of truth and then fresh coffee,
and snapping back to reality, and bills, and drudge-fuckery,
being a grown up, within a child's cage within an adult's body,
in the boy-world of men, yes, beautiful Sunday 8 a.m window light requiem....

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