Friday, April 3, 2009

art not utt

This metronome heart, by a broken piano.Not knowing which worse - feeling like I will never get over you; or knowing that I will.Me alone with your clothes and your insomnia.Your smile is revolution.Your anxiety is contagious.This heart she has taken to other side of the receiver.Love songs at the supermarket.Lighting a fag with a kitchen gun.Paintings I've hated for years, suddenly moves me.Hope, just a silver, always trips me up.Relegating out future to the past, I'm not as good at packing as I thought.Arms the span of the ocean.Me, in charcoal, on paper. You, in light, on film.The dream that sticks to the skin past morning.City walls are eulogies, buildings are haunted, and I am possessed.And the floor gives way from beneath my feet.Yet another dictionary I have to throw away, yet another I must invent.Your voice across oceans of brick and phoneline.

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