physical touch or worthless

gray days, they don't dwindle
only because they are without
you (quiet, helpless): each
moment is on the verge of waking
(some dimlit nightmare earth)
cold, cranial and seething
a foaming at the gums
of human emotion, crankiness.

in rambles i creak strange footsteps
over memories of your phrasings
(these thoughts are someone else's)
counting down the inside of your upside down
(your inside out)
its, you say, physical touch or worthless
a maddening is only outside of fingers
only beneath stares, under the the tips of tongues
(i am already maddening.)
whatever else there is:
beyond math, without equation, amounts to nothing.

it's funny how lack of touches can break our backs.

2004-08-01 | 5:28 p.m.
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