Log in

No account? Create an account
Peach-shaped buzzsaw carve off the cradle’s face. Search behind… - baxter [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

[Jan. 30th, 2015|07:05 pm]
Peach-shaped buzzsaw carve off the cradle’s face. Search behind your zipper for a harrumph. Fasten a transponder to the underside of your chin and wait for me to find you. There’s a movie where a doctor saves coffee farmers in feudal New Jersey. I gave it four boxes of Twizzlers. Traffic cops princess when possible. Yogurt isn’t the only ticket but it’s the only one worth buying a safety deposit box for. My lips are raw from no one and the pit of font bones. Penile symmetry’s going out of style for the weekend. Long sentences bore. Trip Tonkas verb adjectively on a noun. How many greasers does it take to change a fight hall?

Bearing down on your pencil I want a larger orchestra. I don’t flirt when I shouldn’t.

I don’t flirt when I should.

Earn this. Earn this like a paycheck. Put effort in. Think around and above, and if need be, below. Earn this thought, so that you might carry it as a thought you had thought yourself, in spared times standling in lines so long. Let it be sweet to your tongue when you speak it, and let it ease the aches that you sometimes find in your head. This thought is not a drug. It’s not a savior. It’s a salve. To know its honesty, you have bent the circles of time, in that you have seen the future enough to know that you are just good enough not to know my face.