Binge and PurgeBinge:Gab el. Bachman. Deep. France. Bergman. Evans. Rise. Sage. Franz. Polanski. Cinematic. Bass. Black. Morgana. Wealth. Eve. Mibikids. Rife. Mornling. Cyrano. Deeper. Scribe. Hudson. Buksport. Ship. Mow. Berkshire. Fellini. Fincher. Astronomer. Riley. Chompsky. Court. Love. Route. Bloniasz. Jove. Distance. Fabric. Producto. Emby. Dean. Freed. Professor. Space. Apotheosis. List. Geodesica. Norcross. Ingersol. Chabert. Chaucer. Noon. Zero. Little. Words. Deepest. Self.Purge:Its not as if Maya Angelou was strung up naked from a Mississippi delta born cotton tree. Well, actually it was. You see back when black buskins beat back the bra
The Perfect WordThe Perfect Word.The perfect word. The next word. One that fits. One that fits as if it were willed to the page. Cemented. Impervious to eraser tips and backspace backspace backspace keystrokes. Does it exsist? It must. Where is it then? Wedged deep down between the couch cushions. The metaphorical couch cushions of course. No the metaphysical couch cushions. No. The perfect word. Something that rummages through the memory's attic stack of yellowed newspapers with out tearing a page. Mummery. Strumpet. Glim. No no and no. A sentence written is a sentenced flawed. To think we might have strung a string of perfect words is
...Stand....Stand.She beat me to it,then beat me with it.A pair of heavenly bodies,Fighting the gravity of our collective density.Shooting starlets is this galaxy choked night sky.Upon re-entry,We broke up in the atmosphere.Meteor shower, with an asteroid massage.Trip the lights horrific.No one told me it was B.Y.O.Brimstone.Prince Charming plastic face,Could never afford the palace.She blinked my haleys commet,Greyscale aurora borealis.Cynical whore with her lasso umbilical chord.She called it off with a tear filled molotov.And its over.And its over and over and over.will i ever get over?will i ever under..
addictionhave you ever been an addict. and im not talkingabout the hey-i-like-to-do-this-alot type of addict. im talking about theif-i-dont-get-it-right-now-im-going-to-fucking-blow-someones-head-offtype of addict. im an addict. ive never blown anyoneto get it. i dont think i would. but i havent beengiven the opportunity to either. the reason i say 'idont think i would' is because i like to pretend thati still have something thats mine. dignity, pride,standards. but i know i would easily toss those awayjust to get it. i know because i have. so all ireally have is it. for one hour. for two hours. forfifteen minutes
radiate.i love you my blood wench... my thump thump heart beat kiss me with a soldering iron... melted maga eyes ....burn me burn me... burn a hole through me... see right through me... fly a kite through me and laugh at the double dips and loppy loops that your thousand blown kisses produce.use the back door my three footed mariachi maestro. and enter the dreams i have. of silken locks of petrified tears. bruised fruit and ripe wishes. i adore you. call me as your expert witness and i will surely testify on your behalf. i will paint rainbows with your eyelashes. watch you blink in ultra violet.you mean the milkyway to me. help me recyle
Sta.sh
