novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- oh, where was that lake little things are flitting through my head like patches of song. midday sunday. work day. eyes at half-mast, running water splashing over my face at every fifteen-minute break. still there is slippage. i'm wandering barefoot through the deserted office we weekend warriors wash our plastic cutlery and hike our pajama bottoms over our hips so that we can fold our legs underneath us over uncomfortable desk chairs. where are my slippers i don't own slippers that blister i wonder why. still have a cough. hey, pious little guggernaut your wiggle waggle wiggles my waggle i wanted to warm the lowest portion of your stomach i wanted to leave my hand there for days and get used to your body's tide. but your sets are indecipherable and you are fickle as the sea. misspelled and restless, a computer entry peon a pious peon am wading through pirate pants and mermaid dresses online and wondering about the application of aesthetic to the every day of urban normalcy. add the grime because you cannot get salty skin here where we are so landlocked. up this row of cubicles we are discussing shoveling horse shit. i never had a very good sense of balance. i jumped in a lake after. they are laughing and nodding. 2:56 pm - 05.01.05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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