Saturday, October 27, 2012

100 Words a Day v.3




October 27th, 2012

I want someone to ask me if I like my job.

Instruments pulled, no kidding, towards atoms equal to the plush of the wounds I find every morning smithered and smothered like are you happy?

Tossed around the phonebook, the pages taste too bitter to call for any reason other than simply asking if it’s the right person, if they’re there, if they might have a reason for being there in the first place.

I work and work and work and go to Spain and hang out balls like anything everymore.

If my lips ever happened, they’d smack like dice.