torn labels

Pendulum breaths in black sunset debts.

            Th drinking startd at 8

in a salmon villa, 

at 11.30 her hips          rose from th stream of         thurs perfecto violet.

concernd fem al spring stagger in heineken philos, darkly please,
enter dim pub 
ce carbon hair noir.shine; mercy      

            me fuzzy pink sunrise – shut her vanila sle.

Th cowgirl in th sand promised me a fair
chance to grow up – almost cry every shocking apr
night.eyeing th pearl salsa
snaps on her shirt. 

There wasn’t any hate in there – oh no Persephone, look ::
green apples again, on this my 27th year.
no harvest only                
            sour baroque whispers,
            had a feeling I was heading back

      into soil philosophy        (eukaryotic violins)
      no sun martini
      dawn buds at night

.In audible arcs of a hot drunk is conversation momento
rather than mori.says she can stand th taste of green apples, as I   

digest those emotions outside my body, like a tangerine hooker
full  of  flesh pits      ( intimate disease (mono and
no house in her move on).        

But paint streaks like france above country dances
and 

th deep butter of small towns
churns my mood.once cream, now seems a despair dream.

# posted by hardyf : 14:25