Friday, October 16, 2009

the way its been

You could say and would do so, you mean, Jill was a slim jim. Ooh Oooh la la. Now careful with them lala's you know they're like winter frisk and frost. The more you hear them the more you want the moon on your lap. A winter sun hailing the frost. of captured planes and ribboned sheets. Like the wedding vow that never forgives. Forgives and then relenting as any painted throng of guerrillas and 'soldats' camping in the high ground of the town they're about to take.

Call it the sun and moon call it anything you like but its a conversation they're having.

Alright? yeah, okay so she discovered the Oedipus complex when shes's like 14. Okay Like I am speaking your well earned tale.

Come again. Plaster cookies and knighted columns the rest is history.

Okay she checks that out. What out? The Edipus thing which provokes the epic thing and Jill's roosting on the column, like Saint Simeon. And his skylight, his column of surfaced hate? O stylites of heaven and your inky blur. O inky blue. There can never be enough azure. O eremite of the twisted felon in the airy camp of desert and its fetid breeze.

Camped out in socks. Saint Simeon are you there? With your narcissus bowl? The lady with five children and flowers in her finger dividing self the heart breasted around its infinite oh ah ooh oohlalal?