Saturday, February 09, 2013

dont hang on

  the ~E deposit of faith is what they called it. Mona's shakin' around the corner, she dont care, from aroun' the corner where she lived, first saw the film, smoking the teacher , the gawky translator wanting sex with her but too scared, too married to ask

now they get married to money, breadth, and death, crippling the union of difference with sameness confined  portrayed as difference,

but she knowing better dont hang onto that shit.

 In Montreal , it's always like that around the Main, St. Lawrence a , stolen street, a
language , trying to pretend? to be itself...

is that what you say? the loss of an accent and a posture an attitude

hold ye(r) perfection back honey we gonna bust this book.. it's travelling along the lane that counts a s a timbre counting makes a song bust up and run! hightail it to the hills!
A centaur leaping at its name. Imagine making love to a centaur how the horsewoman feels in the thighs, neck, and hips, the sigh , the moan of lust grabbing at all that ...

could be a wrenching apart of the knee joints at the tendons of a leg disappearing into the cloud of summer dust