damn MOTHERFUCKERS IS MISSING IN ACTION!!!
you have my number call me
if you don't ask
i may give it to you
b.
the mona passage
you have my number call me
if you don't ask
i may give it to you
b.
the mona passage
we run until feet bleed, ride trains from the Bronx to Coney Island, watch the sun rise, leave words on granite, find purpose in the music, yell for the gloaming, grow in numbers as the hours pass, push back fate, search for god in the traffic lights, save self, smoke life on the Brooklyn Bridge, jump off the Empire State building, lay down on Broadway, wear noise pollution like headphones, hold her heart in our pockets, dot her eyes, cross her streets, when the city sleeps we will be watching
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We have lost now
What was never ours - it
came from trees and sky to reside a short while
on our palms when we pressed them together or -
to mingle with sweat on the surface of my breasts when we made love or -
to dull the the tips of your hipbones so that when you tilted your glass body and
they jabbed me
I felt it only softly -
Not something lost that we misplaced but
it left us (we could not confine it -
newer hearts lured it) It rose - an albatross-
Now and again I stoop
to collect feathers that the wind has loosened
from its wings.
You have built a house and are having yourself as a guest:
"Please come in," you say to you, "I'll try to make me feel at home."
We each seek in the other a reflection of ourselves, to be seen through their eyes. Perhaps to reconfirm to our selves who we are, or how we want to be seen. Perhaps only to assuage our lonliness in knowledge of who the other is or who we see them to be in relation to ourselves. The other may be seen only as an extension of ourselves, or as undiscovered pieces of a puzzle or as a lost part of ourselves.
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