the form of your adornment. it's taking shape, suddenly.
i want desolation. i want spiderwebs undermy bed. i want oil after digging
digging i want gold.
it's burning on her back in a molding principal of scars. i sit staring, thinking
about a pink lemonade that goes on forever. i want to paint with a brown im
not afraid of. a brown that won't crumble, is sound underneath me, is falling
towards me, is burying me. i'm getting old. i met a woman with a long golden
finger. she told me of souls of bodies wrapped in vines. she stuck her finger
at me so close to my eye barely flicking off the black crud sticking around my
lids. she skipped thhe heart, pointed straight at my eye, pointing right at my
mind "sink your fingers", she told me, "sink into this time". we climbed the
pyramids with boots on made of pancake batter. i still want to find the place
where i will live.
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