Gnawing on the knowledge that I have been burned

STILL learning things that I should have already learned. STILL scribbling down stupid shit. STILL can't even remember if we were lovers, or if I just wanted to...


I'm starting to think Maxim Magazine is a rag for undercover gays, dudes painting their face, an ambiguous haze...I'd rather pace in place...a pathetic junkie on his way into space....I'm WAY into space....that's why I see galaxies when i stare at your face....Speckled constellations compete for recognition there in your eyes (originally written 03/12/04)