Thursday, October 25, 2012

i'm always returned
to bike rides on Rising Son
a stranger in my home town
leeching strength
from the dilapidated row houses
in my neighborhood
we get close to what
poisons us carressing it
not letting anything
permeate but aroused by
the sweet toxic proximity
of thanatic lust

you said that you're
okay if you stay away
from needles and
my god if in that moment
i didn't want to crawl up
the dropper's neck
and drown with you

but instead we wrapped
our arms around each other
and we drank the
expatriated autumn air

i need to work on this
but i won't
i'm weary to death
of this false transparency
glass walls
are just walls
and more terrible
is the flood that you
can see bubbling with anger
and shrieking behind the fracturing levy