The Strange Thing About Words

The Strange Thing About Words

How often we ignore them

in fact, we

gradually increase our debug level

in order not to get annoyed by the

ignorance, noise

invading our aura of

integrity

She licked her onion soup lips, just before sealing the envelope;

days later I could still smell it

in my finger news

We used to write incognito letters

to each other

just rendering our sexuality

as emotional appetites

in innocuous words

Can you image?

everything was so purely blatant

once I told her I would digress over her neck and shoulders

she sent me a photograph of hers, in her room

in return I sent her a small barrel filled with soft yolked eggs

And you trusted her... your feelings?

It was too late not to. From the moment you stand up inertia is gone and

you can't stop raising the mood

When you're cast in the middle of a full raising moon

you're lost!

Laying in bed, I would wait, anxiously

day after day

for the postman next bell's ring

Alienated from all the rest, I

envisioned only

one unnamed departure

mine, onto an exotic land.

Have you ever seen a bull fight?

Words can be powerful, dangerous as the glaciers path

they can trim your mind, at a distance

pound your core

existence squeezed

bull fixed gory eyes in man's

The moment preceding brutal clash

words like keen horns

inflicting naïve pain

upon disarmed

beliefs

Attachment grows while you're sleeping – no control

(another time) she sent me a sandalwood letter opener

which I mixed with the scent of

dunes and spinifex

devouring all

afterwards.

Some men have baby-dolls!

© 2014, JC