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PurdWerfect
Aug 29, 2000



A knowing of showered damp hair
Fingers for fading moist
Water happy on hands
A sweet and clean smell
But who cares
Those fingers would be as happy
In a week of hot weather past
A strong and lived smell
And it's your hair
And the only reason
For the fingers
Is the head where it grows
And the head it falls from

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PurdWerfect
Aug 29, 2000



Words dulcet or spit.
I find something in them that somehow doesn't seem to exist elsewise.

Is that what love is? I don't know.

I know there is drive though, inexorable propulsion.
Never driven, never like this.
This loving impossible journey.

This dream that muddies my sleep, and is my first concern on waking.

Something part epitaph.
Something living more than ever.
Sides of a coin
And theater masks
Allied

There is no side without the other.
Which is which is my eyes on a given day.
Give me another day.
And the one after.

spectres of autism
Feb 12, 2011




will try to crit those if you want

how can stories be beautiful if someone doesn't fall down stairs

ashes are falling windswept
to find steady blades
to cut and reveal them

and they are chrome
repeating satori
girls in lotus; vampire heartbeats
caffeine fusing to my spine

pale stars
seek lonesome worlds
Callista took my wolf hands
shaped to stone
cast to water

heavy steel spreading your seed
touched and braced
your garden veins curve lorn
i am drowned enough

spectres of autism fucked around with this message at Jul 14, 2018 around 17:07

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