e-mail relationships are just fucking weird. i don't understand the signing of a
lease.
my worries are held in silver spikes
microwaving a life before my
cell, I see words next to numbers glow
in a small dark
square box black existentialism,
i am just being myself when it comes to animalism.

here is my doubt.
there are things we say aloud, there are numbers we read to
ourselves when this waiting wasteland wonderland is no wander-lust
of yours,
here is fingertips and footsie labels.
my seconds count a new man and I remain the same plan
of

i recall yellow note pad paper
blue lines to make mine the smudges
of black ink, sitting
in red walls, a living room to lay my bare
eyes and I lash
when it was november or was it before then?
i waited for your piss
to finish
on chin and in your stinking, luscious arm pits.
that's what love is
to diss belief.