Amulette's profile

Twenty third of November, 2006 It should have been my river Ego lull She prizes his madness, improperly spitting grammar But the lines are too fine, the threads rot Beside the skull, emerald satin should have been spread Water aching the sound that only living water can make Abdomen, lower than self and soil Place of relation, fabric of invitation and poor metaphor I could make it a point to draw on the birds, spill on and on of their providence But the quiet must come first

Lilac october 2006 Leaning across the table tin of mandarin delight just out of my reach Setting such an odd tone, you are speaking in tongues, suede I believe you now, replay it back and it still makes sense "Lilac, I was robbed, our rent is gone. Do you think I would slash my own shirt to prove I am not lying to you?" Look! Here, go through it! My wallet is fucking empty." "Well it has been the second time this month. I find it hard to be-fucking-lieve, baby." Castration of heart I am no fo...

Cannibal on Tricycle December 17, 2006 I insist his wink is just so degrading Syllables teetering, tricycle propping up that soft-spoken cannibal, he is some liable forest My prison is pink and because of this I have no choice but to remain elated or by some standards, gender-wise deflated, but still with pulse Rejoined due to precipatory layovers, his chauffer could understand this, how a woman becomes this sad

December 2006 Clavical Tell this body she is like a compass bruised clavical, just west of a chamber injury East, you don't have it so easy Go, you must tell her she is no trinity Fractured atlas, all corners chewed, no wonder she keeps losing every way I'd paint her as a phantom sipping from MAP's fountain Or as a state affair, a shooting in the slumlord's cathedral blood bringing us together unified in slaughter

Premature Sept 16, 2006 There are babes, clean in hushing state, cymbals resist interference Pursed lips, innocent and sweet Fond kisses to atoning air-current Little wires, cords, red connections Angels, monitoring thrive-machine Willow seen through window, but does not weep, such redundance Mourning dove not playful, distress Wake to full potential, feed, willing I am witness, I will be her sadness Cracked lungs, ghost-shaped tone Uninspiring, less than living, infant chest placid, formula ...