Monday, April 16, 2007

documents from back

And to give a piece of your self, is such a struggle in veins. To be alive in your love, to give your secrets of brains. To transmit it all, to give your life in your touch.
To wrap your body in ten thousand knots and wrap those tight in ten thousand socks-– hanging from the chimney when you wake from the bed. With thoughts of us dancing still swift in your head. You’ll find me in Christmas, in your stockings that day. And the day after that, ‘til Christmas white turns to gray. … And the streets turn dilute in their twisted black soot, and the fires of our love whittle from seas to pin hoops. …

- A prairie of passions turn lost and to old fashions in the eyes we once shared now too real through steel satins.

The clock has now beaten on our lover’s lost hearts and awakened the beasts whom are dear to depart, away from involuntary risks of non reality.
. And to extract the lost parts that were given in trust, through the touch in our lust and the lips from our cups.

In cups from kind drinks of our skin beating sinks. But the waters ran dry and we’ve lost sight of the kinks, and to us, each other’s heart- beat. Just human contrive.

And we both now see robots, yes – that’s where our love died.

So goodbye as you ween from those eyes to night sky. Take with you, your cup, to fill along with your lies. To fill up with your pleasures now that you can see in 3D, now that you carry a pistol, now that you can’t quite see me. Goodbye as I bury you deep with the past, although I admit I hate shovels, I fear this mound will not last…