othelladub's Diaryland Diary

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patterns of recognition

She moves like a Cut Swan Priestess

Ever walk downtown - late, late at night?

Ever spit in the sink - just out of spite?

Ever lay on the rails - watch the patterns and shapes? Press your hand on the glass - make your escapes?

Ever sip shallow wine? Float under a tree?

Sit up in bed / wander aimlessly?

Well, that's the crack of the spy-lid-cap you hold so dear. That's the knowledge of invention which you've thought to fear. That's the spine tickle of a girl done wrong. That's the lie puts truth in a song.

When you plunge through the water, straight toward the shore / Your eyes reckon rocks / onions clinging/pure/sore

weapons of wet - lay down your oar - you copycat fuck - it's been done before