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| London, Charing Cross Rd. (man with milk cart) by Wolfgang Suschitzky, 1936 © |
pickled beets, kudra?
(we fuck after funerals)
today I was
licking the air...
pollen's
velvet-ification
is beginning
so it is easier
for me to crawl by
tasting my want
for the pleasures
of sin...
we are habits
and rituals
I bargain
myself with...
sine singed
tongued while tied
sung signed and vine-d
sown into roots,
vegetables and
poems...
you see just maybe
we were always meant
to be something savored
in and out
of when and how
we were
and were not
supposed
to behave
appropriately...
you see just maybe
my inner harmony
is me hitting repeat
on the older woman
selfie porn...
besides, doesn't going to heaven
in a bunch of temporary forever(s)
constitute the very same thing
as purification through escapism...?
EJR ©
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