#222. wriddle

April 4, 2010

wasted
words have
written themselves and
why not
wrestle
with them
within the Endless

for the pain in my heart

to become
the black dog
or to wrestle with it
fur soft comfort beneath the hand
warmed by the hot breath
of mortality
i fear only being abandoned
by death.

#115. Eat The End

December 18, 2009

If a tornado rips through a mind
and the roof is falling
while the frame is raised
then the parting of seas
will rip us from a reality based on coral and chaff.

If a period is the beginning and end
of death
and birth equals me and you
then a thought and a breath
have made a corner
in which we can wrestle with the Eternal Fucking Meat
of mind and gullet lost lovers and the end.

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