but there are only orange cream left, you ate all the nice ones already.
you’ll have another roses, won’t you, love? the little ones are trampling my nest breaking teeth on sticks rock and into heads of chickens. their innards are suckled out with pleasure & the soft shuck remnants trussed with twine. you witch. ah ha ha ha no really, here’s to
the late Uncle Jim should have inherited the wing sen enterprise. the late Gordon L returned safely with an American wife, Bubbles. the late Edith M wove her internationally celebrated black-stained tresses into a tall french-rolled beehive. decades after she managed the david jones cosmetics counter her wrinkles were powder-clotted under sagging, glistening eye sockets. she married twice, divorced never: lived with both: much to gain! her twin daughters shadowed their mother with heads tilted daintily in little girlish unison. they brushed their hair flat across their scalps and never painted their faces poor dears, etc. the late S Wong owned the chequered nightclub where Shirley Bassey sang (most likely). the late C lived with dormant tb since war years. after his left breathing sponge was surgically drained he wore one big shoulder pad under gabardine so that few knew. except the immigration officials saw his collapsed organ on the x-ray. K has cancer inside his nose and when he was eleven your Vinnie took him to see Octopussy. he popped each sticky wrapped lolly into his mouth at strictly proportioned intervals and she was impressed but not too well. in the dark house with shiny bricks he left you a small fox pelt when you turned six, remember? yes yes yesbut i never even met him
and now he is my
fine mess. or something.
(that's what they told me)
how could you leave things like that lying around? oh how
could you!
and why did
dariabrit delete her fuck guide? mystifying.
quick! draw the curtains, or the moths will see. our skin in the evenings is exquisitely chafed by lacy insect bites and citrus rash. we can still taste the current at the corners of our mouths, wire drawn back towards
molars and up past our ears. metal to salt, the acid eats us inside-out.
i got an xmas card from the dentist. he wants to see me asap.
i haven’t been doing anything much except brooding over the 2nd chance (squawk! doctor!) i was granted last week.
say something.
say something. my toes fill with blood every morning. meaning when i adjust the heart muscle slash splash curtain of vinyl and plasma. I saw
him yesterday. he had cut off all his hair. I was very disappointed. Screen time: nil.
