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Post by Kitten on Jul 12, 2005 14:36:31 GMT -5
XLII.
From my height I feel omniscient or like a spy with my binoculars and giggles.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 12, 2005 14:37:20 GMT -5
XLIII.
Plankton fulfill their prophecy every time they accept to serve as food.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 12, 2005 14:37:54 GMT -5
XLIV.
Last night, you and I lounged on the olive couch.
Barely audible we masticated on our past, you diagnosed and proposed that I should run away.
But tomorrow I depart, move back in time.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 12, 2005 14:38:43 GMT -5
XLV.
In this matrimony of shadows, love is symbiotic destruction.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 12, 2005 14:39:29 GMT -5
XLVI.
Don’t leave.
Just stay with us.
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Post by Kitten on Sept 17, 2005 23:30:58 GMT -5
_____________________________________________________
My mother stifles cries all night then in the morning she hides the swollen eyes.
Tragedy must be the spice of life and irony laughs at all.
I know the truth and when I face it I can’t help but suffer alongside with her.
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Post by Kitten on Oct 21, 2005 16:43:01 GMT -5
I knew a boy who looked like he would taste of cinnamon.
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Post by Kitten on Oct 21, 2005 16:49:28 GMT -5
It’s late and we’re out on the lawns caught between the stones with you egging me on to throw in punches.
I do not disappoint and you laugh seduced by my violence
A dizzy night with belligerent, needless lights making sure we are in sight.
Lush, I need direction, so steer me into your mouth.
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Post by Kitten on Dec 23, 2005 2:42:42 GMT -5
I’m in the need for constant agitation, for shifting winds and the celestial migration.
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Post by Kitten on Jul 17, 2007 21:42:38 GMT -5
Fused ganglia, tangled hair, confused tongues.
We speak with the slight movements of our eyes.
Add me to the equation, keep me in mind, when we combine, closer seems not close enough.
And when we’re apart we’re left to absorb our confines, pick up remains of reminders all over the house, so jarring and cold now.
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Post by Kitten on Oct 10, 2007 20:20:59 GMT -5
I'm low on the esthetic ammo, the seraphims no longer sing and play their harp for me, instead I am down on my knees and crouching in the earthly gutters, arm in arm with all the sinners, we satiate the common hunger of the flesh and for the dirt.
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Post by Kitten on Oct 10, 2007 20:21:29 GMT -5
I click my tongue and lick the fingertips. they're honey dipped, leaving their sugar paths with lazy steps upon the twists and turns of your slick torso.
The muted sunset lights reveal the outlines of melting wax figures, dripping in concoction of sweat and lust and hidden fury.
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Post by Kitten on Oct 22, 2007 17:59:48 GMT -5
the grudge must be redirected from the within and spilled, blamed on someone in the periphery
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Post by Kitten on Oct 23, 2007 19:32:01 GMT -5
There are frogs in my stomach croaking for dragonflies and spinning in circles on lily pads. There are red cinnamon swirls before my eyes, tiny arteries popping and filtering the world with a thin film of blood.
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Post by Kitten on Nov 17, 2007 0:46:28 GMT -5
Crack! the shell unzips in uneven zigzags, as if an earthquake split its plates.
the clear mucus drips, drips, reveals the yolk or a dead amoeba or an embryo.
it's hard to tell from the mangled mass, from the pulpy mess,
if it was alive
before it's stripped of bone and marrow, stored in the closet on a coat hanger, dripping.
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