Blog Fourteen

Starin g into

the river

is a rainslick city street

Blog Thirteen.

do you miss me? i/ve run my course, my body is spent like miles of road lain out behind cars and hiways that can/t find my rearview mirror any longer, travelling back to cities i/ve cursed, that once filled me with love and loathing in equal parts before i forgot the love, and the slush and snow took me further into the lonely night time, but the sun came up and i/d stopped and found warm caves that your body was in, and that, i had eviscerated, serrated edges all along your hips like my hand too. did the ghosts ever come back? i still see them sometimes stealing through my house like theives in the nighttime but i wished they/d stay, i wish they/d come back and stay awhile, i miss them and not this gnawing ugliness that springs up like condos in swamps, where once that primal warmth of decayed vegetation held me in vegetated states underwater for years, like a soft coma without consciousness of doctors and nurses and worse, wellwishers and voyeurs to see my body lain out, spent out like water and finished.