seroquel nights

disintegration

Time running beneath the pillow wakes
Lovers entrained who in the name of love
Were promised the steeples and fanlights of a dream;
Joins the renters of each single room
Across the table to observe a life
Dissolving in the acid of their sex;

Time that scatters hair upon a head
Spreads the ice sheet on the shaven lawn;
Signing an annual permit for the frost
Ploughs the stubble in the land at last
To introduce the unknown to the known
And only by politeness make them breed;

Time over the roofs of what has hearly been
Circling, a migratory, static bird,
Predicts no change in future's lancing shape,
And daylight shows the streets still tangled up;
Time points the simian camera in the head
Upon confusion to be seen and seen.


philip larkin




------------------------------

music night dark sleepless or sleepy i am not sure. nil by mouth, stinging sharpness in finger tips you remind me of slipping, and depth and sharp movements oh how i forget you. am i hungry? i've forgotten again.

pages.

wind. not agressive wind, but that quiet movement.

one kilo of cherries from the markets. snacks for a week or so.

i don't want to be here right now. and call it weak or whatever you want, but if i can wipe the next 10 or so hours out of my mind with legally prescribed drugs, then well, those hours are going.

and what are the use of these little words? i feel like i'm slipping back again, slipping away, further back, further back again, and you don't think i'm pretty do you? i guess, i guess my face is strangely shaped, and if you don't like clever, there's not much left.

i don't like feeling like this. i don't like knowing why i feel like this. i don't like having to do what i need to, to stop feeling like this.

oh larkin.

lower back.