Juicing our veins, the pitch;
between pump and pulse--a
screaming reminder of the time
(we walk the tightrope between love
and an oblivion) melting:
The sidewalks slithered into vile
dropping the face off the
world and drying it with a dish(
dirty with lust
they're not my tears (but they drop
from the sockets my skull
view like the eyes of a
personal Medusa twisting
in mirrored reflection of
the coffee counter teaspoon)
pooling on the floor
where the waitress slips between
last night and the dragon
licking our heels.
I'd love to know if anyone understands what I'm trying to get accross in this piece (I think it works, but then I knew before it started what it was supposed to do).
P.S. "I think your wasting your time with this incomprehensible piece of shit" is a better response than nothing.