Dreams are not real (negative statement). But who knows (rhetorical)
You were here though for certain elbow pointed, soft side
Auburn hair spread flowing
Klimt whimsy into that narrow river of your own brutality,
no pockets no stones.
You see dear, there you are again in my mind’s eye, no children for your marathon bib, running breathless atop Fortuna’s fucking wheel
thought you’d found a place for the woman you (were) (are/denial)
outside the pallid consensus
master of your own course, haha delicious illusion – run run! Go girl! You can do it!
Defy the mother father and Holy ghost of a lover and your useless friends and God knows (did you believe? a conversation we never had, useless you see my sweet) how many others who uttered to your glee
for you enjoyed the fight; non è possibile
sei una donna
and surrounding you are blunt surfaces and sharp minds and the voices get louder, swell, fall
crash to the floor and crack open spilling even more
pointless interjections
And the semblant of truth you know is in there somewhere, a sphere
minuscule red glossy, hard as nails but where the fuck is it
Stronzo! Si! Quel con, conne, vulgar bitch; life itself tired of exhausted maxims decrepit metaphor in three languages, see yourself out
to the tune of violence which begets nothing but a race to the pits and your lips
need_ed to kiss something want_ed
to lick a cool neck check his reliable discourse, expectations satisfied then the biting, rush, hot
kiss his neck take him completely
inside you. Rise Queen of all the emotions
you have all the answers
you have all the solutions
you have all the world’s sorrow at once all of it
so you ring your starboard bell eight times and sleep (maudlin image, comforting)
we steer your ship into silent waters (we’re petrified) you sleep
it is cold and dark and none of those things
as you know
