Saturday, March 28, 2009

2 dreams
for ernesto priego


sitting in a house converted to a tattoo studio. a small group. we are each waiting our turn. one motherfucker wants to go first. i clutch at my ideas of an image. swallow. humming bird. the tattooist attacks the motherfucker’s arm with an anger that is unwarranted for its occasion. i hold my breath. and turn the images over in mind. some bird. still. still in flight.


we shared what. we cast around with that look of being so lost we might not be found. sitting upon your nose was an insect. a real bug. it had shed its stinger. i held it in the crook of my hand. out at arms length. thus beginning our studies of the divide.


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