Thursday, November 1, 2012

Horrible Little You







Veins, instead, since now - long, and only slightly, ‘I’m Seeping’ - as a Horror flashes -  What knows or (is) Touching, onlyWater: over the Cat, either Eyeing this Day, or the Absolute: a Wall, rushing Forward to Simmer, what Remains, of our Days: Nothing, and fucking Nothing in this Bed ‘comes either’ –  Postures: I tackling We against Blood, against the Pigeons combing-up through the Sky, this Day – Normal: as the World strays all the Same, and the Plateaus, the People, the Words I can no longer Identify and of course: Horrible Little You – Devoided: what is Meowing me Home or, Howing what Becomes, what Defines, what is thoroughly Devoid of The Genuine  - Continual: A Continental drifting over what it must be, to have Essence in the Losing of one’s Vision, in the Sight, the Torture, the Diming, the Light:

Touching upon what Purveys, upon what is evenly Distributed Five Time in your Hair: the Bite of my Horror: the Sad Sum of slackening in the Slightest of Light