neoprose's profile

Language, my love; I suffer thee.

Ink, like tobacco, craves the mind.

I Lay soft, the morning fog; in dreams of the astral ones. Pouring over the naked earth in assumption that it’s reaching transparency will hide the pregnant savagery that lies dormant as two breathing bodies are covered under the foggy deluge. Morning sun abated the warmth from our touch, drawing out skeletal figures with thorns in the air. Tree of heaven-- grasping for tired strands of breath our mouths sparingly recycle. I was yet to understand the affinity of dying leaves and the naked dye...

I Standing so young amongst spires of stone, of brindle-work faded etched effigies -- cravings of sex, cigarettes and celluloid gave humanity unto the pew silence. short. fleeting. Timelessness; bound bronzing knees, bound by the droning of silence of silence, droning, of silence, droning how handsome it must appear: in humble judgment. Trying to hide the blood dried under my fingernails of thoughts the scars; wizened glances appear-- while they all burn to their service, behind the gossamer ...

I The writing was on the wall wedged betwixt shadow and trace lines of neon flashes. foreign characters of “Snel gaan nergens -- de toestand nergens snel” what did the signage read? of intoxication. crowded taxi chamber choirs of “wie sieht es mit Ihrer Währung -- einerseits das Lächeln” And so I sat those nights, between lingual patrons self serving to star silver grapes skins of ethyl blood wrapped around their feet, like the bees hunger for sexed chrysanthemums. II Never thinking how the e...