¶
a summer sky is but a picture here. an artifact to torment the little bit still left susseptible to rememberances of eden. an attempt to temper against a twinge that if preventable just might misspell the end of it.

i watched the repetative cast assunder
a second guess
a stutter step
and the rest are left with thy rememberance
when at last allowed to catch ones breath
i'll carve an icon in thy vasage
the quick and the dead
don't walk in the jungle with blood on thy hands and expect not to amass attention.

¶
your attentions have mass
if you surpass me send postcards of the golden streets
perhaps to meet in a flagstaff dive circa 1923.
chance occurance notwithstanding, but whose to see what circumstantial evidence might bring to me when electricity ceases to pass & one might drown in their own accruance, the affluence of inefficiency.
down to the gutter with thee, lick my feet and beg to be sullied.
i'll bath thee in rosewater
then you'll post up on street corner-
bring sugar to daddy. sweety.

¶
perhaps you would the smell of another upon me-
to prove that i've been wanted
repeatedly
i thought the gesture was beautiful, to relent to none but you.
i could taunt you from affar, but such would smack of effort,
unrequited.
so, ya done with me now, exit visas ensue, and such?
just be blunt, please
i like it rough
convince me there is nothing left
then i might be finally rid of it.

¶
dream of cyclones that give thee attention
the intent
to go with it
seems ominous, doesn't it
but what else is left?
was that a disscount in thy utterance
when i smell that you remember
every bit of it?
(was that a trick?)
aquiesse, relent
remember me where you and i alone exist
dream of me as perfect
is that to much to ask?
or is that why you cannot bear my countenance?

¶
23. separation by a drowning death, do you remember it yet? thats why the sense of loss was so imbittered. but admit to me our recursion and i'll leave thee to thy own device. i obsessed a bit, i thought of it as compliment, yet the best inticements turns awry if there exists too much history in absense. *shrug* i am still, after all, human

eyes open, cavernous ceiling, stone, almost to forever. i've been poisoned: nerve ending feedback in my fingertips, a convincing argument to lament my mortal inefficiency.
shut up. suck it up. establish the fundiments. who am i? where are my clothes? the first question-rhetoric, as such thoughts lend themselves to a peaceful, loping existence, i remain content to lay here, let things come of their own accord, no need to vault for cover, all is well. (i am awake, aparently...i wasn't before)
clothes..hm- requires effort, a search strategy, (toes nestled in blanket, apparently shrugged; ceiling-fan-goosebump-shivers) as i muse the implications of such, the ominous architectures of my awakening gratefully fade to white faux-stucko americana: standard apartmental ceiling, safe, sane, expected. (soft sheets, floral scents, estrocentric art below my field of view, this is a girls place). wait, hold on to it, just another moment (mmmmmm. awash in vapor trials of estrogen). but such was never meant to endure beyond the fleeting. (i don't remember falling asleep.) the peculiarities of my situation begin to bear some semblance of order (shit) just as the door used to separate this room as functional living component opens. (shit.) no use feigning sleep, i wouldn't be here if she was stupid. (bed bounces with her weight, a definitive gesture, intended to jostle, shit) all signs decree this experiment is ending, badly.
'you were talking some kinda myan gibberish in your sleep.' almost monotone: her affect of dissinterest.
"did you record it?" (the ceiling fan has become, suddenly, hypnotic)
'no means'
the smell of the organic strawberries from the fridge, no doubt tastefully arrayed on expensive glass dinnerware.
(*whoop* *whoop* *whoop*, like a puppy)
i'm supposed to look at her now, in time to watch the glans-shaped fruit pass wet (oh so slightly bruised) lips, the cringe at the ensuing emasculating snip from a perfect insisor. dangerous iconography that, perhaps the clothes dilema merits further research.
(*whoop* *whoop* i can almost see the individual blades)
best to see where things stand, her shifting weight decrees that things need to get rolling, let the healing begin!
..."i sense some...unresolution."
clang of glass plate on dresser, she pads to the window, free from my personal bubble: apparently this was not the thing to say.
'you...hmgph...' (quick gestures decree a nicotene addiction)'...you.....' (shes been thinking about this) '...a Carrot'
(...)
"i made absolutely certain the business end was smooth" (d'oh,... play it off, this could work)
she turns to look at her bed, my shameful nakedness, the eight inch (approximate) carrot infused puddle slowly affixing the flannel undersheet to the matress.
'you...fucked me... with... a carrot'
the blinds come up reveiling grey urbania




d'oh, computer time almost up... save and exit

...& i was just about to ask her to prove it...
¶
so we were set to be broken by a jealous playwright...
but to attempt to change the essence,
the alloted sceen re-written
with in-jokes and allusions to the start of it.
after all, every possibility exists
[but (happens) only] once.
(is that) deja-vu
or an astute director
convinced memory is better
but something MUST go here.
& if it IS (a)live
to decide not to like thy alloted lines-
one might never work again.
but public access IS free. (as of yet unconfirmed)
come and get me then, & prove you're worth the trouble
i'll put my cock on the table, knife in hand
and dare you to say it
disscount me again, please
just to see what it might do to me.

¶
my 2nd grade teacher used to smack my hand
(with a ruler even)
every time i crossed a capital "J"
even then i knew it was kinky
was i the 1st?
to make her wet when i stood by my original assertions
i would appologise, but i'm pretty sure she was allready used to the harness

¶
so what she broke me?
at the time she satisfied me amazon ideal
& our son is beautiful

¶
anothers come to take your place allready.
convince me of my fealty
i would demand it,
but fear you find me not worth the effort
you will never read this, after all.
you, who know my inclination better than most
yet still impose a past incarnation,
did it get under your skin a bit.
need to get yer jabs in?
such would have broken me (a little) before (mmmm)
do you have a bridle?
can you see me now?


¶
i barely feel her alight the bed this time
& i remember it again, the precorticle future-type vision:
mayan monolyths, the precipice.
sea-shells, god-rays, caustics that leave markings in my favorite forgotten script. stuttersteps that half take my attentions, the math of it swirls around itself, conductive circles, nautilus incriments, set aspin, gyroscopic, hit with a capacitance, resonant...
coordinated universal time? wtf?
will she give me the attention i require?
an afternoons bussfair to some decrepid dive?
all my problems will be fixed (eventually) dearest of the beautiful...
i'm broken but for none has shown me what to do with this
the bios-chip asthetic.
i close my eyes and taste strawberries.

¶
i would say good-bye, but you refuse to let me go,
non serviam, *shrug*