POETRY - Its Time
Yes, there’s time, but I’m not really into it. The thing about me is that things are just stuff around me— barnacles on a whale. But I am stuck on something else, and then I am completely out of it. Now you know why I keep talking about tesseracts and hyperspheres, and sex. Sex grounds me and gives me someone I can really get into. Trouble is sex usually gets all fucked up in time. I keep looking for someone I can really make it with in time and out, but even Fra Angelico’s angel can’t get his wings into the box Mary is packaged in. Projecting all this on you is definitely not going to get me anywhere. Try bottling the blue of the sky-- or your breath for that matter-- it’s like settling down on the horizon-- move in and it moves out. It completely screws up time with things that have nothing to do with it. So let’s be love, instead of me being in love with you. You’ve got a real garden and don’t need to crush pretty flowers to dry in a poetry book.
|
|
|









Comments
Post new comment