Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

so this is saturday

chasing women with beautiful telephone voices
whose faces drip as tobacco illusions
from the corner of my mouth
in the mugging heat of middle city summer
stuck in the middle of muddled building windows
perspective becomes mosaic
i am a foolish owl tucked inside
of thick oaken burrows
scattered upon the grove

and when chasing women doesnt end in finding
i find myself at the witty end
of findings
like- maybe this whole thing was real
like- regret always tastes of coffee
like-i'm just not that into her
that her is a misogynist word
and when those drip lips end up on my end
they always seem less satisying

i kiss the thought

tongue the innards of elusive women

and sleep alone for days at a time

as the nights get unbearable, her voice gets closer

and there i am in cotton underwear trying to think of what gets her off, and that gets me off
and there i am in absolutley no shame working that image until it seems she is dead
and i die
and we meet in the middle of mugging hot summer
we're moving into muddled building windows
making a mosaic of lips and tongues and cotton and eyes of owls that creep among the street lamp chicness of the grove.

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