exorare

Aristotle in our readings was first, Giving rise to lively and long disc’urse On the generation of animals and parts of the soul, And the combination of semen in both. Then came Lamarck, Of fluids and acquired characteristics we did hark. Though he’s since been refined, One can not help but admire the output of the mind. Delightful Darwin barged on in, Wielding natural selection, he ‘mazed our throng, Where efficiency and variation could rule the roost, Selection of phenotype would give populations a boost. No longer I say “survival of the fittest”, But now, fitter, “that of the sexiest”; Not o

This is the 12th time I've sat at your whisper feast And gorged on taking off your jeans with my teeth. This is the 12th time This past week My stomach on itself has collapsed. This is the 12th time I've wondered if somehow A little electricity instead Might do it for me. This is the 12th time I've dined under this insupportable roof, seated next to dame Opportunity, bejeweled with harsh malice, and wondered. This is the 12th time My hands have shook too hard to calculate my clumsy words This is the 12th time Harsh Starvation has met with Too Firm Hands and swayed to the new song. Enough. I will ignore the ways your ar

I will only indicate the invisible valleys where I have concealed the sounds to echo among the mountains. I should not say that I have not loved before, & I can not tell you where such clamor of abstraction will lie. I will not recognize the self pleading permanance, but I will inflict on your body my wandering mouth and swallow the breath you exhale. If, in needing you, my hands, in holding you, grasp your sholders too tightly or if my tongue seems to pierce your skin in sipping the sweat of our bodies, Say, "Enough." in a firm voice, and I will walk a sure path to the summit and sleep.

hadn't bothered with my self for some time now until you (oldest soul!) came straddling trains- shaking the sky with thunderous steps into my mouth as the trees stretched at dusk yawning great leafy breezy yawns again last night you strode into my dream unasked, coaxing the folliage into bearing broken time pieces that all our cunning could not fix. i think with you i would make a home and cover it with scribblings on dependency and how not to lose myself again and how to fix watches and clocks and how difficult it is going to be to now shake me free of your limbs

I walked with the ocean last night just to be tossing in weighted doves. And Love! your limbs were draped on the railings, mouth slack and blooming with shattered molars until time without mind came when the waves took you back. I whistled into your ear canal, so lately sobbing salt onto cool cement the tune old enough to speak (but lisping).

as I healed found myself surprised to find that your fibers had woven me and given the power to produce lifelike sleep for weeks and avoid our folded (SCREAMING)knownandasked "whtsprettygirllikeyoudoinginplcelikethis?" thieves(with a will and comfort on my breath) stuffing(and committing us to logic) crusted missives into the walls. May it not be torn down may you not pour as salt and insulation from the foundations and may observers be encouraged to commit forgiveness confronted with the organic brokenness of newer hands May guilty bridges crumble as rails splinter your voice and may Repair come with merit and a Plan.

All the cowboys shot all the cows between all of their great trusting eyes. And all we did was watch. (Desperately humming the next sonata in monotonehalftime.) us: danced. believed the ocean's lisped promise to swallow headaches, hold tight, and tilt chins. you: left, expelled in gusts and gasps. i: stumble. the one without a leg to stand on, the one with great hopes. So 6 is not 20? and you don't wear a seatbelt. My spare hands froze and I was left with nothing but broken capillaries. But the snow was crisp and for a moment I felt the sting. Oh Song of unfathomed rhythm, narrated by faulty hands! all the satisfaction of a wet cough, n

... so i navigated streets as a ship sick sailor, taking my bearings from streetlights and stop signs but for a year of walking, my tongue was corroded and scraped my lips when i spoke. oh, it was great. and it only took 4 cans of oil for me to start talking. and they slipped down as thankfully as sleep and ships. finally, with a little crude, my self already numbing and calling to distant shores, i died. and finding out i was dead, also found myself relieved.