(no subject)

Unblinkingly in the flood of gore we sloped toward each other filled with the dread of hope the red light of breathless intent until the bent moon adhered her sticky fingers against our flesh and we chilled at each other's presence, reviled ourselves for the lovers we remembered the whole brute displayed disarray of One-Another-And-Other and our lithe and tiny respirations in the ears, the sweaty talk of faces pressed against faces in spite of all we knew at the time that we rehearsed simply for the clang outside Eden. My memory of these encounters-- where I could consume the lust straight from their yellow fingers-- bites at me, a live exposition of the eighth circle where we all gnaw our neighbors' heads. "She never denied me her backside," the voice replayed and ricocheted under our relentless moon. I hid, my two minds argued with one another in their private language and all I could hope for was that they'd
Keep It Down This Time!

But with that shouting so obvious beneath the satellites I realized the women had watched the whole thing. We, loving then, tore out our eyes our oyster lungs, and roared at them. Where did all these limbs come from? These obscene and full of light persons around me?

We hear women in the leaves, amid the softly singing and colorful flowers. Under the building walls here, we longed to lose sight of the horizon .