This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

I have pissed in your wine. I have broken your boards. I have burned down your house. A Balkan brass band is playing at your funeral. O Earth, I am a clumsy seductress. This brie is melting down my chin and my cunt is in the ocean, at the bottom of the sea. The names of bright-eyed men, and lord, the women too, are the shimmering rocks.

I want to burn you in my memory, give you the keys to my house of fear. My tongue in your mouth is a catechism, and I would let you baptize me in spit and tar. Let’s climb all the trees in the city. Let’s climb the stairs from the gravel to your room. Let’s, let’s.

Sid BrancaComment