<white's "lying in sadness">
2004-01-15.8:59 p.m.
Lying in Sadness James L. White Moon to my earth come from some other space so totally white at our evening meal, wearing a coat that will not last the year, I love you completely as salt. Tell the one about an hour before darkness in your room above the Bangcock Massage Parlour. The one where pain rises with the bread, filling you with its yeasting smell. It's dark. You exhale a fist of memory. I love you like weathered wood in a room of empty pianos. When you return to something you love, it's already beyond repair. You wear it broken.
back /& forth /& frosting
names are often sad