It’s runningthrough me
honey-shaped couch-smelling glory:
this amber glow that touches the corners of a smile and tilts the world to such an angle as to
scream the inner depths of pain out of the soul-
it’s in a cage and simple silent sitting in the corner.
this is how I’m spelling.


the way I see it:

July 8, 2010

An espresso shot has ten seconds or less to live.
So, technically speaking, those orderers of espresso drinks are paying for leche con carcasses of the coffee bean, ground in to split second decisions, life or death matters.
A doppio is nothing more than a dual graveyard, too cheap to purchase twice the plots, two bodies comingle as one in a demitasse, slowly sipped, a supple enjoyment of death.
I see universes in this, settled in layers at the bottoms of espresso glasses, the beveled floors of the shot glass stained with a ten second life- aborted fetus of caffeine.


July 1, 2010

The dust is settled on her like a fine layer of exhaustion, creases and folds filled to the brim with crusted mucus from the eyes disguised as sleep sand.
this is no day at the beach, we all have these ridiculous umbrellas and I’m swimming in lies like a.
my gossamer wings are something from a past life I never had.