Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Sense
I don’t say much of sense
but I do ramble about and feel
things too, like you and you
my crumbly walls are true
they’re true
and unhappy holes are old
they’re old
and sex is clouds, its true its true
unreachable and wild
and new, they’re new
the dark and rain
come through and through -
¶ 2:56 AM puddles and pebbles
I try, I try
The sky is too high and blue,
its blue -
touch me here
and here and here -
my thighs have minds of their own
wetness brings on the rain
and clouds and holes and walls
there is nothing new
so few so few
and we bring on the rain
the roofs the roofs
the roofs leak
