is what I keep saying, singing too sometimes,
naked under a black rope dress-- sway ing from anything else but
the urge to scream swanlike. the want of a bedroom moat. the window inviting the sun
in for tea, breakfast, reruns of a thriller mystery.
my photo is in the paper this very afternoon, dates of my life gently carved out, dipped in ink, and pressed alive for the world to share in me. a fly lands on my ring finger perfectly.
i bought fake diamonds this morning while on the couch, singing, coffee will cure me.
dress pattern v.s. couch pattern compliment system of my immunity to a beautiful day. I do not do not want this beaming of light? I am not this three piece Victorian sofa? chicken soup for the college soul goes unread, tableside.
spot LIGHT
just a light spot of creme de younme
a jimi hendrix song,,
a bob dylan cover maybe?
Ohhhh How Does It Feel? bb
the great unknown of a stone, rolling, possibly
i know coffee will only light a tiny fire in my heart cave for a moment
and cures are really semi-virulent strains you must learn to fight off true
but please let me scream into your mouth please
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