Promises are distant from me. Promises are strange things, unwieldy.
Recklessness kicks me like languages. No one ever made a promise to me.
Ornaments at Macy’s. I got to trim its
tree, see each price, each pretty tree.
Macy’s was my job last Christmas. It was
my get away, and I could be a good
Empress of the cash register. Cash
register that I love, were he a man like Johnny.
Star of who knows what, balderdash and bawdy language. I loved him with my
memory.
Sterility is too thin for me my body is bracken and fat, a gross amalgam of too
much paste.
A bright idea would be the oil for a kiln, for a heater, the boiler in the
basement the older brother
Purchased. Christmas
is coming but we have no goose, only turkeys.
I dryly must suck soaking in his complacency.
Rare productivity, maybe that is me.
Please forgive me, I loved you, I needed you. Maybe I was dying, needing drink.
“OMG, Move on, it’s hard but it’s good for you,” they say. I believe it, though I don’t know what is meant.
Dinner guests have gone by to the elegantly dressed table. They were more elegantly dressed, but I
prided myself
Updating my list of lines instead of the latest trends. I will be honest with you and tell you
exactly how I feel.
Terminus was the end, the boundary, the station and I was not ready for it to
be over but you had a story to tell.
Tenderness was your game but it was not the only thing and it isn’t just you it
is everyone. I love you and I love the
now
Infamous father of each person’s child. Now who do these children belong
to? Here I am. What am I doing? What is
Volume control, it is a sorry wimpy control for us who love the tune and the
art of centuries. Centurions sound
great.
Incompatibility means that people were not touched and it was okay for them. They were safe, or are their enemies
Tenterhooks waiting for them in some hidden glade, dark, sinister and foreboding?
Assimilate with me for a while. I’m too
lazy. I’m too dark, too young, too
something, I can’t see myself. Let me help...