i've missed your writing or really what i mean, could mean, i miss you
of course not - it's an idea, a representation, an image
what else is there?
it's true its rude to eat everything in thailand
food like memories moving in a circle
you know you did wrong when you say "my jeweler" and some one answers and those around know the one to whom you refer.
it's not so much that i care for jewelry but only that friends are, no more
one appetizer, one entree per person, sitting pretty on a lazy susan spinning round
like the sun and the moon sitting across the universe
obscene mountains of food - obscenity like vomit
the most beautiful women i've seen are men but
i never met anyone from Tegucigalpa or Teotihuaca
we don't eat worms all the time
even prettier, speared like rows of sunshine
scorpions and beetles, glazed a beautiful orangey red,
waiting in a line, their bamboo skewers, perfectly parallel
as though waiting for the firing squad
all the way sober,
homesick words flying and others float in eddies,
scaring the spiders inside trying to find
what i feel, what i think that is of no moment
for I am not lined up on a skewer, dripping my orange syrupy glaze
perhaps i need to chew my words a bit longer.
as you lay there with stars above would you wait for me, the other one?
not for that, god knows the complications to run with the devil.
not to be good and not to be be bad but only just to be,
to be alone,
to be alone
with a friend but what is that?
are you? is anyone? i thouhgt i was but then i say i do i say wrong do not and so that's then the end of that.
wandering soft sands of dead crushed beyond any semblance of glorious past coral once nurturing the ocean now trampled as though nothing.
Just another road to nowhere
What we do with what we’ve killed
4 hours ago