Sunday, August 23, 2015

Where the stones give lips to water

In precise and blurry flavors
I've come here to lash out
I've come here to reclaim my tenderness
Which is not linear and I'm trying to remember
the white mink coat I wore on the plantation but it all fades to war paint  and we wake up
in Los Angeles

His   isn't a vacant smile but it leaks  rage   and   lazy  insight
Mine isn't  a shattered praise   but it  returns    aloof from the dream reciprocal   and we still wake up
in Los Angeles

We hit the pitched iowa road like convicts  in his  landless motor    saw a white god in texas  and black one  in  shackles    and  we still woke up in Los Angeles      the choked up mecca of our carbon black masks                                        this  fame      that   ass      etcetera