unalloyed

Spitted on the leftovers the cut down reeds or rails of industry the Angry Men cry out neither lustily nor rustily but in false tongues hidden language, stalking each other they circle; we circle out from under bridges and overhangs and fallen logs we come limping. our crowd bent like miners in the dark like old men like Atlases, but armed, we pick our way through puddles, hump our forms over the fencelines and descend from the highrises. Which one of these things can we taste first? Which one of the innocences do we need to pin like butterflies in cases? Dirt under the nails hides whole worlds of wanting, cravings as filthy as any in a book. Listen! They're reading the entrails of history, it's been split open like a goat and if you turn just so you can hear their voices, gutteral and touched with a certain awe.

Day 1 Losing Myself

cherries, cereal
water, ramen
salad, biscuits, mushroom ravioli

dexatrim herbal supplement

1 hr. walk in evening