I woke up feeling slightly queer. I started at the letter "S" hanging over my bed. Noted the sensuous qualities it possessed. Wishing I was with someone. I was not.
Crash ups, pile ups on the streets, seeing the noise and the quickness with which it happens, the guts spilling in every direction did not affect me. I chill at the thought; secretly wanting it to happen. Tragedy and gore, human gore, lives wasted the families involved will cry. They will send out the emotion I lack. Showing it openly. God, that is good.
I need to clean things up, take the tissued from the floor and wipe away the shit. Pleasures come and go. There aren't cleansers strong enough. the pimples that were on my back years ago, have gone now, leaving scars.
Total revelationary customs cause deprivation. Daring to relieve that, patrons. People drive but. Cuticles hang from my head, centered on passive subjects. Lightening wakes up the people. But does it ever cause enough pressure? The bullshit of another decade.
Foot toes, tired from the dragging. Footholds pass the ground but do not touch it. Footnotes grasp things but do not hold them carefully, gently. With respect. Trappings were years from then. Grace captured a lifetime. The beads rotted. Left standing in a cold train station, two heavy suitcases against your legs. See the faces, people who do not know. Live that journal under your coat, in the pocket of your torn dress. Wards to embellish the mind and remember. A pusher to move you. Living out the journal you keep in your pocket. A cold wind comes in with the others entering. More strangers. A low voice announces it's time to go aboard, you walk over and leave.
I bite, the skin is dead. There is no pain.
Taxis fly by in the night wanting to take me to overseas places. I have no where to go. No momentum to make action on, no submarines. Taking roots, I still wobble. The branches don't go too deep into the ground composed from bad twigs, lousy soil. A turn around isn't possible, I'm there too far. Obtainables aren't anymore. And art waves in front of my eyes. Drowning in colors, metals. The plates are of no good texture. Those darkened
RIVER BED 31
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