Thursday, October 7, 2010


still the stuttering.
inject inflection to your tone, and
carefully, peel up the layers of a heist
in which precious beats are made off with.
so erratic, they, and more fool you.
ring the bells and drink your tea
in dark afternoons of threadbare rooms
imagine, missing your creativity,
j'en ai rien a foutre, vous avez dit

et et et moi non plus.

and then, before shy eyes start shuttering
and your stills keep stuttering
change. and winds of.
and trickles of greed, which you respect not.

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