fucking old ways
melting into my pours! but aren't the old ways just new ways beat into submission?
or do we subdue anything at all? I just let it all happen. Making decisions based on the pattern of my scarf that day
or the way someone said, "hello". Words ARE worthless. Even when they're worth something.
Because how can I convey anything without masking something else?
Who is it that said all poets are liars? Wouldn't that just make all people liars, too?
I'm sick of having myself in skin,
not sensing what happens below my head except for vaginal
miscommunications.
And I wrote lots of people today,
to try and remember what kissing feels like!
Do you remember?
How awkward, how touches made the grass feel like intercourse in summer?
Smoking a cigarette in the cold?
My throats sore now,
because i'm not taking care of below the neck,
except reading old ginsberg letters
and smoking weed through a hole in my neck.
I'm telling you to get the fuck off me,
so I can start getting off myself.
I'm gunna smoke another one,
and hope my brain figures out where
it ends.