back by popular demand... demanded by thin pieces of silence

2003-09-21, 6:50 a.m.

as with those bits stick to my teeth, i rub my tongue along your lines, along your little curiosities, under your trees of hope, and onto your pools of red inquiries. something is frustrating my taste buds, stinging lips on burning white ceramic.

i would love to go out, walk into the trees and hope the exit sign flutters, a gleen flame is extignuished, and i am wanderlust. in that corrider of wood and leaf, the sensuality of night is thick, nag champa in a small bedroom, owls humming Pinback above your line of sight. feel like oxygen in oil, midnight black, ivory, swim in Magellan's wake.

yes, come in, he is the colonel. he wants you to join him, offers a Jack Daniels sandwich (double shot of Jack). The lights in here flicker, a telivision is set on hypnotize, it flashes infommercials for cutlery and aerobics machines (now you can cut tomatoes while you run on a rotating rubber band). Your accepting smile soon turns to a fruitful grimace. Conversation turns transparent while you wait for the sandwich to drown your receptors in deadly nightshade; corduroy couch on your denim makes for a simple question: you have been here before? you have had your drunken bantor like frosted cake already?