i like 59 the way that black and white lasts
while perfect color fades away: blood to paste.

i dig myself a hole in gotham
and lay sublime in the skirt of my grave:
a feminine unfolding of earth.

i loved that tall old man
i loved that tall old man
who wandered into the city of St. John
kicking his junk every day.
we wore black hats and stared at our feet
the dessicates of form, shake it.

the dead congratulate you.

this is where i talk about insinuation:
the music that insinuated the slow china curl
the spine and spiral of the dark

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words and image by mjs

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