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{32 flavors of love and death} john dorsey sleepless most mornings i am held breathless in the sun's contempt under what would be my breath whispering "is there any safe place around here to die?" i have harvested dreams like some people harvest the organs of the dead 10 fingers 10 toes i hum these words 10 fingers 10 toes to touch the ocean floor of death once our lips touched 10 fingers 10 toes our dreams have become marrow flesh turned inside out i wear my heart on the inside of love dream death dream love sleepless maybe i'm already dead maybe these words are the words of dreaming i hum them to children licking the blood of old spirit wounds all 32 flavors of dying ring in my ears as i hum their meaning in the hours before sunlight becomes flesh and i am merely billy the kid wearing ghost skin in the moonlight most mornings i sweep up stars in a dustbin to the casual observer i am the stuff of broken promise |
