fisher king's wasteland

a sense of you lingers as i sit here alone with my words, and books and tragedies of conscience but that sense of you, a light drag of your careful fingers caressing a lingering memory whose words blur and shiver because i'm with you

her slicked hair is long and flowing shining, glistening, glowing, growing into flowers, bright and budding while the light continues flooding her with nutrients, like those raining onto her black boughs, necks craning as we pass her, aquaplaning slamming straight into the railing as our lights go out, they're spinning and the devil's eyes are grinning and the horn's stuck, it's still sounding rounding out the scene, confounding our ascent, the tone is ringing in our phantom ears, and singing us to the abyss it's calling we were floating, now we're falling while our lady stands there lurking and her sensual lips are smirking her long fingernails are scraping a straight line, through those she's shaping to form numerals, she's counting scoring victims, numbers mounting scrawling up her branches, tickling her sweet trunk, her sap is trickling strengthened by success she's sheathing her stretched roots, she resumes breathing s

long fine threads silvery red streaks flickering, vibrating the retina of the mind's eye jumping out to our heads swirling snapper seeks looping, tightening holding us here until we die vicarious meds strange, conniving freaks manipulating, fighting until the them becomes i [ our lecturer was laughing about oxford's etymology machine determining that the word "cable" is of unknown origin, presumably indian. not at *all* similar to חבל ( chevel ). the quote i found: "lasso, rope, halter for cattle". i was remarking on the fact the cable tv really does tie people to it: and not to the good stuff, either. it's freaky to think of how many people are addicted to reality shows, when there're discovery, sci-fi, animal planet and channel 8 that all show incredible shit. ]

i caught you trying to sneak by bristling with marshmallows peeping out from long fingers curled peeping out your joyful, guilty grin did you think i'd miss it? did you think i wouldn't want too? you knew. you knew.

butcher meat puzzle slicing jigsaw shapes from different slabs then wiggling then jiggling and they slide into each other the butcher laughs the meat laughs and stops being meat [ context ]

i look back i look forward i can't see but i think i think that i dream and i see that i can't it's all new, but still old it's all broken, and the glue is in you, but not me because you're in it you, see. and i must know i'm in it i'm not afraid of the thought, i'm afraid, afraid of the fear of the thought that's in me, in you, but not you and me because we're all blind, though we all easily can see that we play, that we're big, stuffy slaves we're denied by our worlds, our own childish enclaves it's your beat and our rhyme it's a waste of our time it's a lie and the drole truth that sleeps in your soul but that clock's watching over not caring a bit, if it melts off the table when my psyche is split