What do you do when future enters your mouth?
What do you see?
Do you close, turn and run?
I have my hands clasped, knees on your throat,
I will have to kill you if you move.
So much as to look away from my advice,
Twice removed with my bag of loot.
What do you do when future gives you the cue?
What do you hear?
I wrote it on your palm, my name; I told you to run.
Beauty was controlling the mind, making shapes with her tongue, making me quiver. Lashes on her eyes, the length of Berlin, wide as fantasies, they speak, sparkly, spires, making me. But she lies, like the question of telepathy. The bound of gravity from my words, the callous remarks she knots on a bullet. Then she dies…
You could see things, good and bad, like money you’ve loaned to your friends, always obliged to ask. Slow walks along dim pathways to your house, you were talking like I’d be getting something special tonight, just like money I feed you with, always disappearing in conversations. Rushing love against your saliva, you were open and you were quick, like money you keep between your breasts, always tricky with words.
Thinking, stirring the sugar in your coffee with your eyes like money, I’m sure I don’t want you. I’m sure I don’t want you. I’m sure I don’t want you.
