November 21, 2010

THE GIRL THAT WOKEN A WOLF



i woke up at three at night, run to the bathroom. i've saw fents of dream that wolves had left on me - longitudinal, acrid scratches, decorated with filings of blood. grandmother often told that deep dreams are hemmed with evil fairy tales which are crawling with ghosts hidden beneath heavy, wolfish skins. i'd like to feed them and tame.

AS SENSITIVE AS ONLY DEATH CAN BE




live, organic night is impending. there are voices all around me, that brings unrest. there are lights all over in which i can not hide.

BOY WITH A HAND COLD AS DEATH




i don't have anything else that is more sensitive, far more precise than these hands that you dress my body when it sleeps. in these hands instead of blood you bear cool breath of death, with which you tame me.

SCRATCH MY SKIN UNTIL DEAD-HEART



if i could, i'd wear for you a scar after heart.