2.022

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

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