<no title> (12/22/10)

I make feeling of the brain.  Mostly low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me tryless. A little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose, those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I don’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs, I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get  pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.

on nonboredom & revengespectations

The nonboredom, but the unwillingness to live hard. Maybe it's my blame on the lacking braincells, because of illness. It doesn't stop the beachparty popmusic, nor does it stop all the showers I take. The chapped upperlip is a result. The claws are not. I also am not stopped from wearing the bright red dress: it is a powercolor. How can one not smile consistently with all the confidence mustered? 

I have plans for us, for us too. It will take weeks, but I'll be placated meanwhile; my bruise tattoo will be mollified. And everyone thinks he's a poet when he says "mollify Molly" and his peers congratulate him, but I say, you're not the first. And won't be. 

This is too much information to keep in a head! How exhausting. I'm going to sit serenely on a sheepskin painting aqua and crimson, threading a needle in & out of folded pamphlets. Plastic ono will be there, and the appealing overdose of theraflu. See you in four weeks.

I make feeling in that mindset

prettylittle 80 - 82

I make feeling of the brain. Most recently low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me without trying, simply. The avocado’s point of view is a little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I didn’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs. I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.