her love is like bad medicine

The good old Dr. Krynski sent me another note today. It's a good thing too because after the day I was having I was in deed in need of a dose of something...

'corpus praeludium'
alternately titled ' the heaves that greet the end of indians and summer'

winter is coming and i feel 17 again. evenings in fields hidden in frosted swirls , drinking distilled roots of little waters running through icy veins to burning red noses and listening wantingly to tumult of hearts furious new import crashing against her ribs, hallowed by the slender razor'd implements that separate fission of thoughts and wants and lusts and pangs.. cutting and white, quickly finding it's way down my lines, ever closer to the mouth of the river. my heart still belongs somewhere other than here. i saw her the other day, plain in her sunday dress and spun like the secret saint. anima sola that is forever redeemed. and amen for the pretty girls who no longer look and bravo for the grizzled alpha positive creations of men who know and have and still want more. cock and quiver when ever the slightest sting and twinge of the newest craze leaves them laughing under stupors of wine and heroine's and whores that ceaselessly fuck you and oh you are so right oh you are so so so until the party ends and the porn confetti stuck to your lips doesn't taste like the sweetly sick love you had hoped was under all that talk. under all that emptiness that you were reciting by and by to cover your sins and regrets for this misery that loves the company of the souls you love to dislike most. despise them for affording this aire..these strangers and their derailment. soon you'll be standing outside the lorraine, holding metal cups to substitute for respectability and doors ... doors for their trusted legacies, wondering where it is you'll be able to get a drink after their eyes slam shut. soon you'll be in yaletown and the scurrying wont sound so bad if you've go that tar to get you through the night. and we save the most depraved moments for their richly tempered ideals and dreams, muttering sweet destruction upon those bereft of spite. ascetic, soldiering on in a sunny despair. making certain were down and out by 7 am. pounding, throbbing and stealing a living,from their turgid standards of mediocrity. summers ending and i feel sick again. fingers whetted and and met with little resistance. anima sola will forever redeem us if we keep quietly.


Pronto said...

I could write a thousand words

and still not say a thing

(or not)

Judy Lewd said...

do it do it do it!

If you write me anything I will post it, my blog needs more words...

Pronto said...

Your blog needs words?

Mine (both of 'em) are virtually word-free........

Anonymous said...

some~one! hates words....?.......

my feelings "( both of them) are virtually word free".........eeee and very hurt pronto.

where's the fire, brohammed?

Pronto said...

never ever claimed to hate words.

luv words.

they make the world go round.

but, i love visuals too.

some say a picture is worth a thousand words,

i'm thinkin'

sometimes its worth more,
and sometime its worth less,

and besides,

a thousand is a lotta words.....

just sayin'