brutal, its for you too

2004-09-27, 12:35 a.m.

you speak of the metaphor of an empty canvas, but there is one right behind me, set up on the easle, ready to be filled with choppy brush strokes that look and smell like the bodega tides. i walked outside tonight, and of course it was with the intent of finally grasping that moon, a third trimester of pregnancy (honey, its gonna be a while before you can see your child, he is gonna be sick.) she winked a blinding white eye at me and i had to adjust to see the darkened scar tissue that rivets the lunar schematics that we have grown accustomed to.

how many people could see this right now? who is staring at her, with a thought so gluttonous as my own, hurting themselves in a vein attempt to find solace? this is the real me though, in the reflection of my bedroom window. i see a transulcent shadow fo a face, with a silve palor to remind me of whats above, and a smear of black to seat my silhoutte amongst the trees.

is it loneliness or the shock of finality that keeps me seated tonight?