i’ve been digging like lucas with the frigid grip.
or andy dufresne.
but I’m not being obtuse,
just relentless
with a spade and a some old sneaks
that i forsook like
those drunken college years.
unkempt exposed stomach soon to be crème brulee.
soufflé becoming syn co pat ed from countless crust punctures.
such is soil toil.
There isn't a mission. There isn't a goal. It's just words on fake paper, sliding and tripping and flowing all over the place, because we're all full up on words in here and there is no way we can keep them inside. Like Tony says, "Nothing in here is true."
Thursday, May 04, 2006
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