Hard floor, harsh light, naked body.
Cold ‘is’ the absence of heat and as such is a type of sub-condition. A little can feel nice on a humid, summer day and a lot can feel ov...
Strange stranger stirring
Of this height.
Is he true
Or am I
The circus carcass remnants bright
wheeling pendants of mysticism
the clear night light.
Drowning druids with skepticism.
I'm sitting in my bath.
Edna sat here with Ophelia and you.
And I sit here with Sylvia.
Born from here and baptized here and returned to here.
Taylor the Torn Turnip transforms terrible teaspoons of taken tears to tools for tapering tall.
Take time to think of Taylor the Torn Turnip's abili-T.
Coveted role glistens
And in a tidy, suburban corner
To the poor, misunderstood, self envious victim.
I'm jealous of everything.
Mutant manifestations turn my eye green.
I wish I was he.
I wish I was she who now wishes to be me.