"I'll bagsy yours, If You'll bagsy mine."
Echo and the Bunnymen
Her mother's stairwell of light was immediate and insistent. I was, well, on my back, sleeping working like a narcotic (when sleep was all I could say i had done) (if sleeping is doing anything)watching channels pass flash television putting me down. Was it Marisa Tomei I saw? Was that another song I used to enjoy now the soundtrack of a place more exotic than my own and of people too much enjoying the present? Hee Ho hum. I am a citizen of the United States of America. I enjoy my frontal nudity time to time. Is that a chocolate donut? Is that a Brakhage film? My dearsweetnothingness.....ambers and eagles and golden stuff...Why don't I speak another language? Why is grammar a hammer? If this means nothing to you, good. Move on. You weren't supposed to be here anyway.
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1 comment:
This is a poem.
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