cloaked-nouveau

I should go walking in the rain by the river, Ain't nobody going to see me fall in. I should go screaming through the forest forearms bloodied. Ain't nobody going to know where I been. I should go falling through the floorboards into silence. You will never have known I'd been there. I should go jumping off the corner of the rooftop. Smile on my face, wind blowing hair. Oh, nobody going to know that I was there. Oh, nobody going to see me fall in. Oh, nobody going to know where I been.

Burned my eggs, toast, birth certificate.

maybe that is our plight, (and our is ours, you and I. Reader, Writer.) I keep all inside 'til it spills out, inkblot over pages, blood spatters on canvas you read, take deep draughts of poetiks, and wait for me to bleed some more.

i, mona tuck, am not a polaroid life does not paint white squares around me and my turquoise-faded skies i am not a paled tan figure, ambiguous in muted colour neither am i a photograph in a shoebox left upstairs for twenty-six years but some day that is all i will be.

To be a writer Means to have yet another excuse for bad behavior. It means that when I sit next to you and I am wrestling the smoke from your cigarette like a bear I want to believe we'll end up on the floor in gritty film rolls and beer cans and start to choke. Because I remember how the whiskey made her eyes shine and her her hair a swimming pool. When she took me aside and said "You two are going to destroy each other," with a little Parisian smile. Expecting one day to read great mythology that we made with bread knives we stuck in each other's eyes. So one day I felt like being more clever than romantic and I caught you b