SUBJECT>Re: Stalking the Famous Poet / Of Mere Being POSTER>Metz EMAIL>mkemlmekm@aol.com DATE>1108537095 IP_ADDRESS>236-166.netwurx.net PREVIOUS>83427 NEXT> 83461 IMAGE> LINKNAME> LINKURL>

Yeah, go for it, and ...

If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.

-- Stalker's Sympathizer

P.S. Just excellent. You got a knack for making me like the kinda poems I don't like.

Stalking the Famous Poet / Of Mere Being

: The wind moves slowly in the branches.
: The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

: Later on, a box holds up the ground.
: A woman moans in it. She takes
: weeks to rescue. I am her tormentor. I say
: one million to the phone. I have drugged her
: and am breathing onto her small breasts.

: It is serious business. No one listens. There
: is
: no one around. No noise. I have drugged
: her and am breathing onto her small breasts.
: It is serious business. I say one million
: to the phone. I am her tormentor.
: Anything can happen.

: I see the faint cries she makes shake out
: from a tube, in my hand. This hollow reed, this
: rubber hose. It is serious
: business. She breaths through this
: thin tube, this rod. This is how we
: communicate.

: I want to buy her a bird, a pretty one like
: in the back of this book, Wallace Stevens,
: The Palm at the End of the Mind.
: She'll love it. I'll read slow
: and deliberate. I'll make tiny holes.
: She'll want me to read it all of the time.
: I'll make tiny holes. This is how we'll
: communicate.