torn labels

a lion's skull full
of white lies
I
bleachd and dry
from summer's
conversations.

await autumn on a parkbench
under a pile                                      of ded leaves
                                 details hide                                                                           2devils  ~  prime

             in     a windy sunset.blanco                     ( huntr, bring me yr gun ;            lovr, bring me yr death )

# posted by hardyf : 23:49  0 comments

what good is common sense
cinnamon and fume blanc

she enterd december
on th seventh
and shook th’empty bottle
my heart was in

as snowflakes to thin skin, nothing changed

                  but one night on tay
                  we lost our inhibitions
                  in a winter hot tub

                  go ahead, baby, undress in th laundry room
                  while I caramelize th’onions

ice prints run from th backdoor
and slip into a pool of smoke

th thin white thigh of winter
extends from behind th treetops
and traces my body in th darkness

th astronomics of her merlot laugh
th low pressure of black clouds pushing gently by

th moon, intent
th neighbour’s bathroom light, on

through steam
words came out in nature                          hard to / in here

rivulets of sweat
and immortal drops of breath push

snow dris from th branch of a pine
onto my shouder

fearful of th unseen frame
around us 

     pine needles             upon our shudders                forest presses

and small I watchd a bead of sky condensed slips down her blade
and across her breast 

    8          

               seasons don’t just
                drive slowly, this time
                  was our biggest mistake

                     for every strand of long au
                       burn hair
                         i find year after year.

# posted by hardyf : 01:10  0 comments

drifting on silver
sperm beams
through semen demons.

come here relation                           (( a yawn floats away
ship.  

crashing hard
in th basement of honesty. beaten dreams. tell me more abt going home,
over and over,
in relapse.

remember vomiting in my sleep after prom.from double-fisting
jack and jim.listening to
th killer in you

                  isthkillerinme ( a golden-haird siren from dresden.

stuck in th back seat of a stationwagon w/ jim morrison. for better or worse.

back to rehab.  climaxing in th airy morals as th metaphor of a pedophile. eye    modern child skin

and raspberry moondrops.damn

sleep sucks at my eternal cock. ingrown and sore. worship so deep 

that th nechako drifts over my head,
th wet curtains of suicide                                     seduce me.                                                  ( rum murmur

heartbeat ready, but seemingly distant.
re dead oxygen spine needle eyes clasp – at least my last words were a success.

fade to a shot of a small town carnival. a mist of old cocks ovr young trash.

not here for th rides. floating in th primal vapour of mini donuts.           

# posted by hardyf : 10:33  1 comments