I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas.
My fingers are Santa's little helpers.
My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments.
I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn.
Sisyphus, sweating uphill.
Bukowski,
scribbling away
in rooming houses.
A river always flowing.
I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Mars...
So dry today feels like fiery chopsticks up the nose eyes like wrinkly prunes it's too bright my head is the sun my brain throbs one supernova a second my mouth is moist like compost
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