It creaks inside your fingerjoints;
It fixes in your stare;
It floats around the atmosphere,
Then sinks into dispair.
It sticks inside the cracks of skin,
Like dirt upon the knees.
It licks at bone and dust and sweat,
This inescapable disease.
Let's walk through acid rain again;
Let's breathe it in too deep.
Let's hold it in our hearts with glee,
In paradoxial sleep.














Comments
--
and you take a lot of dirt off someone
is the character less bad. no. it improves constantly
you don't refuse to breathe do you
--frank o'hara
--
Lunge wildly at the pope!
I love the poem it's really great.
Did you know that cellar door means=to make love in french.
It's probably spelt different though.
--
[JeSs] - I won't waste a moment with fear.
That's pretty.
--
Lunge wildly at the pope!
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