by Chris Butler
When I get so high,
I feel that my mind
could fuck the sky,
but it’s probably just
my brain dry humping
the ceiling of my skull,
like a chandelier
of concussed
consciousness,
hanging,
dangling.
Friday, January 15, 2010
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Blog Archive
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2010
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January
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- Back Home
- AFTER THE HOUSE OF GHOSTS
- The Desert
- On Roads Beyond Hell
- What Children Know
- Like Dead Rabbits Burning on the End of a Cigarette
- bee of good cheer
- Timeprints
- $11.37
- Breath
- McDonald’s Job Interview
- on the day Robert Parker died
- Snow Bound
- one over the left shoulder
- How He Became A Ghost
- SNOW
- ANN FRANKING IT
- JACK
- Secrets
- REDOUBT
- Concussion
- anthem
- My 7th grade French Teacher
- AT THE EDGE
- dried food, weapons
- walking tape recorders
- IN THIS HOUSE WHERE THE PHONE RINGS RARELY
- 'Everyday Asymptote'
- BECAUSE I WAS NEVER
- THE E MAIL PHOTO OF COVE POINT
- Edge Lyric # 6
- This Broken Doorstep
- Desperados
- Rumba Man
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January
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