Tuesday, August 27, 2013

 yes, blue please

 Oh that blue I am all of it, feverish, they are talking about eating a tongue/ they are saying it is rude to eat a tongue

In the corner is a smooth blue creature I want to touch,certainly.

now they are recalling how they once covered their elbows because it was civil

I am feverish, the sound of the word blue
I'm listening

how much is improvised versus composed

A creatures smooth blue hands, my blue veins--

the see-throughable-ness of my thigh in the light

I hear a blue sax in the background
it happened in the middle of a hiphop song

Now they are talking about beautfiul blue brains/ the old oak is the beautiful thing 

its rough skin on my face, a textured blue

It all lasts forty minutes: this blue
conversation. A man on the radio is grateful for all of it--

her fingers along the wettened blue clay.
something magical  

She is feverish, blue-spined
dare I say ascending
to holy, blue, sainted

There is a smooth
blue creature in the corner
she wants to touch
its bald, blue head

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