Poetry is a weird muse. I run after her. After dying fathers and dying mothers, and she runs around, I would have to say she is a giant pussy, she is all the girls you were never with and all the girls you could never keep after you slept with them…
You would go on and on about stars and space.
Gravity is information, and space time is this and that… I would meet them and their lips and smart tongues and tits. And when I met kim it was like a fucking ice age. It was amazing, kim just came in with her gyrating pussy and all her love and all of space and time made sense. When I was scared she would pull my head into her. My head into her breasts… like Marshall Faulk running for a touchdown, until the storm in my head was calmed…
And I was just me…
Over and over again, just me….
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