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[04 Jun 2007|06:52pm]
i am so stuck. between what i shouldn't want and what i should. i want what i shouldn't, wish i wanted what i should. in the meantime, i'm singing. there are songs my sour voice is suited for; there are songs my stiffened fingers can encompass.
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(she's in my head; I can't stop) [11 May 2007|02:09pm]
She is vanilla. Summersweet black lace pinup vanilla whip; her skin and her cigarettes. I want to buy her cigarettes and smoke one seeing her lips and remembering their sweetsmoke taste. Summer sun assaults my sad eyes and I am shifting. Shapeshifting I think there is something new inside, some shy form glimpsed and nowhere and
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[10 May 2007|01:41pm]
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(too soon) my new hot love, truer and vast [10 May 2007|11:03am]
My head is strafed with thoughts of her; my heart is a weapon. She is a reverberating bell; she is the only one in any crowded room. If only my eyes were cameras to record her movements, her eyes; if I could see her eyes now, now, and then, and ever. She would grab me by the throat and push me against things. She is smoke and I glass, she is in and all, in and all around me.

My heart is a weapon warring for her against guilt, license and awe. My heart is a machine as cradled. If only paper were thunder I would have my battle cry. I would throw everything I have against her fences until my body breaks or they do -would, don't.

I don't and don't and don't.

She is reverberating; she is tensile. She is smoke and she is solid. She is solid as continents, shifting stone and soil, slow illusion. She is a gone world and my hands long to draw her out, draw her in. Old maps are drawn with devotion: she is the work of years and I want to start.

I want to start.
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