Tuesday 15 February 2011

A Passion Automatic

We wake up eating cigarettes and pissing blood,
tying each other's necks with nooses of love
made from the finest hairs off the horse's tail
that failed to scream at a string's embrace.

Asleep, laughing at ourselves
dead sunless visions of spirals
and ghosts making love to the sound
of a liver sobbing in its drink.

All necessary adjustments made
we strap into our private throes
eager eyes to the stars counting: ten,
nine,
eight,
seven,
six,
five,
four,
three,
two,
one.

1 comment:

Philophobic said...

I liked that too. :)