Thoughts flit through my mind like profanities spewing out of a drunkard's mouth. The sun, the welcoming stench of dying organic matter, home exists in death. Silence. Joyous loud silence. Nakedness, and gloves. Life, living, reliving, in a huge thinsolate glove. Lightening stopped midstrike. Hips. The hair peeking out from under a helmet. A kitten's young instinct. Falling over. Falling down. Clawing up on avocado and rust curtains, with fringe. Carnal Mother flying past me, numbing me, filling my shirt, stinging me with truth. White socks with black shoes. Uncertainty made certain. Spaghetti tossed in the air and spread all over a harlot's robe. Gloves, and hips. Stone hands. Stonehenge. Tenuous beleifs spread like wildfire, shoved up my ass. Aging, old. Reincarnate witch burners. Crystal-glass rosaries shredding my sanity. Jeans. Jeanskirts. A garbage bag of clothes flung to the wind. Freedom. Lithographed indie glasses and converse shoes. Gloves. Safety. Rx.......Liquid courage. Liquid insanity. Gloves. Sheep. Wandering, stumbling. Guilt.
What shepherd will find me now?
Who can remove these gloves?
Bitter, fruitless Hawaiian punch. Empty your glass, Wilkerson pasta.
Paper smile, ecstatic apathy.
Sparkling pierced earrings. Liberated Glee.
About Me
- Ellador
- I'm an agnostic, humanistic, feministic, vegetarian chicken-wing eater of few words. I strive to celebrate life in all its many varieties.
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