Let's dig

Things aren’t always pretty, what can I say. I like the humor blood the best, but not my own.

The houses lit from the inside lined up along The Boulevard and tiny teeth biting the insides of my thighs, blood loss is prickly, air loss is biting.

If you come over right now I’ll show you the inside of my room, the stripes on the walls, the velvet on my headboard, the lights I shine for Gaza on the map above my heart. Let’s dig. If you come over right now I’ll take you out to the backyard, it’s good exercise, it’s been raining, the leaves are wet, they are fucking everywhere, and there’s that smell in the air, so we should dig.

November 14, 2008. The reason it happened…let’s dig. It’s raining, it’s been raining, the billowy October clouds that hover angelic white on crystalline blue skies give way too early to that oppressive November gray that lingers like a corpse. Curse November. I spit on November.

 I’ve written a whole bunch of things, I hope someone puts them together someday, like how they did for Emily Dickinson. I always try to associate myself with Dorothy Parker too.

It’s been muddy and raining, I dig. I thought there was a time I might stop but then I’d gone too far. I like the smell of earth, inside of it. I like this time of year when the light comes from the leaves and not the sun. I’m glad it wasn’t October. If it had to be any month, November. That was the predictable time of year. But, let’s dig. I think it best to just be quiet and dig, there has to be a way out of here.

I’ll find it by this time next year. The reason it happened….let’s dig

Things aren’t always pretty, what can I say. I like the humor blood the best, but not my own.

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