Your crude art is my way out. But then, depression sets in. And this depression distinguishes itself from sadness Through its intensity and duration. Abounding feelings of loss and disappointment Further instill the notion that all life is futile. And because you're young I cannot complete you, for I am The critical result of years of sex and sin, destined to be A crop coerced into birthing his own insecticide. And some nights I watch you vanish into masses. And maybe it's not half bad Deleting that primordial flash. In the darks in between, my accessories climb onto the brink. And sometimes they vanish, and sometimes they reappear. And some nights I vanish, and hot damn I'm skidding An asteroid trail of sirloins slurred with chins. May God bless such play. May my God bless your filler Mourning the first sensations to gloat. Whatever you're healing is still desperately hurt. It's never easy to wake a tubesock tasting of each sorrow. Whatever sleeps under me has no antibiotics. And I will leave here when the money runs low. I will leave you either stoked or skinned. My eyes they open your mouth an opening, I am hidden By ways out. I climb the brink and address this nudity. Unaltered, as shame might say, engaging a wall At peace with the law. Now the money is done spent, and our booth sits reasonably Enough to hold high these insults of episodic rape. An owl's stain steals my affection for the sky. I repeat, you die.
TAR ON MY CAR
Catching fireflies, I think she actually ate one. Earlier, we took a Long nap while listening to Bob Dylan's Time Out of Mind. So how Was your stay in Brookings? I found your note, and
I'm amazed you found my car back behind everything. You probably Didn’t try to come in the building, which you couldn't have anyway, But I was sitting in the grad office most of the morning right inside The doors. When I saw your note I thought, I was so close! Anyway, I Received
Autumn Sonata in the mail yesterday and I read through all the poems. I really like Trakl's writing style and the way you can see perfectly The images he describes. At the moment I really like the poem "All Souls", but I also thought the prose poem "Dream and Derangement" was Beautifully disturbing.
I hope you will tell me of some exciting or interesting things that Have happened to you since you were here:
"Mooncloud! At night Wild fruit falls black from the tree And space becomes a grave, and this earthly journey a Dream” There, over you, unless your parents have died, of course.