Tuche & Automaton

Saturday, December 29, 2007

December Whispers

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Monday, December 24, 2007

mold

holiday tray. smoke chain. ear-lead.
fuck you? fuck me, lobe bone.

OooooO, line wiggle in the belly of my
fat head


drip giggle

Aims is playing with bare teeth

you don't say

transducer. loose interior.

rum balls
pumpkin pound cake
all I really wanted to do

was?

kiss.

doodles

feet in the grass

wandering, wandering

reefer breath. a green stillness.

my semen on strange faces. the backseat of
death


-In The Next Room-

is everything Okay?

no, and I'm sure it's me, my
get-drunk-want-stare

pulse inmate

teal smile.
striking erection.
ampule.

saliva skating

outside, the city glows. Nina doesn't know why
but, chartreuse comes to mind.

you said we could leave soon
you said the empty spaces
are bothersome


where did I leave my flower

right where I put it

where?

in your hair.