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Array
(
[sid] => 161993
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => transitory
[time] => 2010-08-24 08:38:57
[hometext] => Our pleasance here is all vain glory, This false world is but transitory. ~William Dunbar
[bodytext] => love a private party nobody on the guest list never finding the door intense enough it hurt to watch wit and brains tossed a melting centerpiece a cult of spiders working it out knee to empty mopping up day before yesterday what's he really saying blind deaf-mute carpe fricking deim an altar as an empty stage actors yet to come bloodhounds scenting imperfections drinking in his smell paper snowflakes hanging from my heart thick as a blizzard and roaring blood about to split and blow up the world come with me I'm not missing see the oaks outside the window explosion of creation splattered in precious scarlet real as rain never and never in the change of locked doors your dark world carry it yourself I'm out loop around back to where it began a collection of bones filling space stop off for a fragment forget the fleshy masquerade hanging backstage down in the mines into the dark sensing hunger and discontent a city in moonlight with lizards and books kicking Sigmund's head out of the way keeping all the secrets they follow me home like stray cats veering off at the last moment blind women blink. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 119 [topic] => 73 [informant] => ming [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract )
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