some girls...

some girls think they can and are. some think. i suppose to understand you'd have to live in their shoes. struggle for their breath of death. redhook esb and she thinks she can seduce me. i'm a bandleader. not only can she not, but i'm a veteran of foreign affairs and i've seen every social structure crumble into dust. i've seen the scene, lived it and i'm not easily seduced by methods of 208 year old dr. octo. brusies are right for my handstands defy all that is man. lock me up if you will. celebrate my departure by love wet wicked sex. i'll only be back worth more. once again defying the impossible. wink, wink. you'd only wish you have seen through me like you thought you knew me. tip of the tip of the iceberg my friend. of our elaborate plans, of everything that stands, no safty or surprise, i'll never look into your lies, again. the end. i can't! could you? well yeah knowing your one track mind, hell bent on being timeless. i'll tell you, i was never wrong. i saw it coming from the first time he knocked your door down. but a sneeky snake can't wait for bait, and i'm sorry for you, it was my fault. i was born on classic films and vintage morals. chrome and wax. i'm more of a cholo than you think i am. i'm just rock and roll. i'm pure soul. take it or fuck off. i know your reading this right now thinking, "who? me?" deliberate prose knows no actuality. but so far i refuse to make arbitrary abstract generalizations to satisfy a particular pink. who knows what you think. some girls do it for pleasure. some girls do it for pain. vaunted ida's long, long think roads. all retrospective passions passing by like the landscape's "indie" time trees beating a rythum i can't figure. almost techno in my head.... or the be bopest jazz ever known to deaf ears, and you can't hear. your all wraped up in your fancy farewell. my dear mate, my love. i'm going far far away. i know not where.... who shall i say i'm not? a happy genius of my household. telling truths as if i were psychic? i do not want to know the effect of expireience. the marvelous project for a sociologist, the seed of the menace. to hear the slaughtered cows cry for their skins at night, lady. let's elope from eath and tangle in heaven. i never said i was superior, but fuck, i can write all night, only, who's reading???? tell them i'm dying to sing with angels and all the addiction and life i've lived were in preparation for the big moment. i'm addicted to love. to human touch, to lips kiss, to you, my perfect partner in times when partners are paired. i must see the pope, broadcast my film on his chest, to say only, at best, that i'm a courtship heading for the bay. in the correct form, with letters and numbers: Sa7m0n 3gg5.
this is preliminary. you'll find the whole truth and nothing but tattooed in invisible, glow in the dark ink on my chest. done by the pope of the high solitude and veggie burgers. with the light sensitivity that even darkness is bright. i shine in his eyes... in his eyes i shine. jealousy is often mistaken for infatuation. i love you meat market and all of your slabs of mutilated heart. come over and we'll shoot the shit.