Tuesday, 14 June 2011


Smell of my own feet and dirty festering
laundry mingled well with
soiled rags that have wiped semen off my torso
and been discarded beneath the bed
- it penetrates the air
The sex life of a slob without a partner
is not glamorous.

I still love my open window.
Car's are distant and the
tree moves in the wind and is a good friend.

It's peculiar
I wonder if it's an omen..
There is an owl that lives here.
We stared each other in the eyes.
We stared at each other for sometime

Owl's have big eyes.
Big black eyes that stare like they know more than I know

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