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Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Scissors

More prose from the Traffic series. This one is short. 
metaphor. june. juxtapose. speed or brilliance. music is a jealous lover. hiding in a corner and waiting for me to come around again. back of your head and black tray above and the ring finger and the black water who turns and stirs under the back of your head. and the hope that music will not be a jealous lover in june, hiding. its all fun for you in the circus. the circus really stinks like speed and brilliance. it really stinks like nectar gone all over your thighs. again go all over like the niece of nicotine. her name was a middle name groping around the carpet on the floor trying to find my unsharp scissors to break this nexus. I thought I was gone. you thought I was going to drive over the bridge swimming inside too much prozac
and a quart of warm quick sand
to rephrase my indecisive steps.

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