i'd like to get that feeling like you're
talking to me like im
here and its then
when i heard you say
but cobwebs dont glisten in the sun.
like im stripping naked boys of
their lies and shame and pride with
words no stories nor facts
just words to cut up their silly
rhythm and i'd like some cake
to go with the fuckyous, thank you.
and d'you know i dream of placating
winds of changing directions
of deranged prisoners and i
get that feeling of walking
summers, streets, snow,
dust crawling through the gaps between my toes
pulling out as sheets of phantom mysteries behind my back.
and i dream of me working in the sun,sweating
sweating like they do outside
like the fluids have an easy outlet
easier than this.
i'd like to get the feeling like you've read me,
fed me, having tasted each morsel before offering me
a sin, but i'd know what's forbidden
but i'd like to forget
though i dont really know anything about this at all.
like ive just glutted on straight lines
that refuse to curve or bend
and get stuck like the swirling
lines of songs i cant remember, coming from
the other end jammed in my throat. glands can be myths
meant to scare, just myths i like to
think up faces staring straight at
reveries i cant fit into.
but you see i dream
of getting the feeling like
i can hear you and feel something
something else anything
at all as long as nothing
doesnt butt in, as long as
i know there are secrets clumped as
cobwebs in my shell
and i can tell you that i'd like it
when the sun dont matter so much.