13 April 2006


in no man's land we teeter. we are fleet of feet. athletes; there is nothing here to conquer, to mark with flags. no defender, no splendour, riches/rags. every direction the same. a game in our brain, masculine/mescaline. the spider inside me salutes you, sir. you thrill me. is there nothing you cannot love? a crime. passion/possession. you laid here, lied here, made songs amid the shards. you make the melody, i say the words. guilty claws draw the music close until the bombs falter. kill free. this pause; time waits for an island. these shores, this land.


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