p , r , i , d , e

P.M. S. ~ pride body of the woman's pride. meditation. glance. blood, flow, rage. she says, be careful, you,
i'm premurder syndrome ~
her little teeth laugh

then she cries out
making love
but no pride in the lie ofthe other's self pity, twisting herself on a sheet of her own lies. its how it goes with some , they tickle the sheet so hard, nothing but juice "waterworks" comes . ringing raining down hard time.
oh poor me, they whisper playin' tougher than they are , or can be . when what they want to do, is stop being drunk, and love a man.
instead they stand in pride's ego.
or plaster their mouths with dope and shit
is that desire? i dont think,a nymore than self-pity is.

So night is sleeping.
Not love ~



Imagine. or I imagine finding your garter belt,
on the street say,
picking it up
bringin' it home ~

it's what i have
that's all,

just that,
i take it
to bed
with me
kiss it
hold it

is that the word
our bodies
two lovers
a garter belt
there's even amazingly
a scent of you
traced there
i scent it
perfumed into me

as i fall & fall ~

sleep comes then
entering the body of you here over astral