A small space dedicated to the unsatisfactory imitation and substitute. A shield, a cover, camouflage, streetlights, bent knees and bloody fingers, billboards and pills. The degradation of eyesight and fallible understanding of concrete.
Water on the wings of a moth near the flame and, you, only, come closer.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
watch me go backward the sun sets in its rising horizon my hair grows inward my face softens and you... you never knew me.
1 comment:
the soft...
faint scent of sex still lingers
as i turn to see her figure.
she is looking at herself...
in the mirror.
i send an intrusive stare directly into her eyes. blue. they know i see their distraction but they do not break from their own reflection.
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