Tuesday, March 23

Up a talker's ass

dear dear
now i am in a fix
mouth can be closed, like this.
you stop talking, like this.
and then when you can't, you try to kill yourself like this.

burying more sand in a desert,
scattering them up on the wind,
circling birds with more sand,
worlds go awry with upside down
grain of sand.

please eat it and die,
and peace be with you,
and with you.

PS: if you can still not die, come to me. we will make love.