I live in luxury at Cuntgrope Lane
I whisper the soft salutations of moonlight.
Listening as talking.
Have I witnessed the past or future in the present moment and did I even write this?
She formulates a voice of whispers like erattic ocean waves sprawling drunkenly upon the shore.
An empty place hurts the forms that want to love it with hands that give as they receive./
/an empty place hurts with hands that like to touch as they receive.
/I see an empty room and I hope the walls are kind.
I show you where your footsteps will land before they fall. /
/I show you where you've been before but you can't come here no more.
Fierce riducule from a fierce love.
Lacerations to ignorance as a key for the opening of knowing.
Have you ever ran backwards through a field of glass to discover your reflection./
/Have you ever ran backwards through a field of lacerations to discover you were no more a ribbon than a Christmas gift.
/have you ever ran backwards to discover your origin as endless.
The grass is so green I don't know what to say.
Have you opened the mirror or do you just stand in front of it everyday.
The mirror of adherence and the travelling Tuesday of a train with no name.
I was the rage of the lightening bolt that flashed from the tiger's eye. I ripped the shrieking gold machine with electric metal teeth. Dissolving against my will to the will that cannot be broken. I moaned in honey and laughed through the cracks of my breaking broken heart.
The unity of breaking and broken an endless motion.
Cartography of the multidimensional winds.
Intention is invisible but hopefully felt.
Space I have this
Carress it if it pleases yout to know that
my shape knows your Carress knows.
I don't want to be presumptuous.
A place in time is like a bubble of sea froth.
But my place is yours.