the histamine reaction causes a raising, or branding

This of the tattoo. When it is irritated or you get bitten in the area surrounding the tattoo, it will often raise, or become dimensional. To the touch.

These are the kinds of feelings I have been having lately. Somehow I have found myself in a nice comfortable place with Fetus who has proven himself to be a nice place to rest my head at night.

He told me that me and Francis are Francis to each other, but when we are together are the collective energy of Francis. This would only make sense if you know us: the energy has a way of bouncing off of us to hit the unsuspecting masses in the face.

I am finally in a comfortable place now. I feel not like exploding in poems about confusion and solitude, but definitely more so to question WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND COULD VOTE FOR BUSH? I mean honestly, the man is an evil yet surprisingly stupid man who cannot really connect with the talent of explaining oneself without repeatedly using the same terms, yet not defining them EVER. George is dangerous much as a two-year old would be, making big mistakes he’s not capable of answering, taking an entire nation’s concern, manufacturing diversions of fear, and hate, to remove responsibility from what is really going on in the homeland (you know, the jobs, the health care program you could have funded instead of dropping bombs long after it was even explainable), social security, taxing these scamming corporations to exploit them to erroneous third quarter earnings when it really is that bad. I don’t understand any fucked up support of a man who has made us the most hated nationals worldwide, become a media joke, and has a gross family tree anyhow (see Preston Bush [Hitler]), Georgie’s daddy’s involvement in government agencies, and just the general lackluster that he represents. I do not feel that Kerry is going to be the next JFK, however, who are they polling when they say he is ahead? They forget the slaying that voters 18-25 will have at the polls. And if you don’t vote, then you can’t complain about you, your parents, your uncle, your friend’s parents, grandparents WHOMEVER’s unemployment.

But anyhow. Off to prettier things:

—————————————————————————

I like the slate blue, chiming of your eyes as they magnify the dreaming

like a rusted copper penny, the green changes as the sky falls
I remember the playing, my heart like a metronome, marking the heating of your skin

cracking sizzle pop, the end of the stray hand

I suppose the easiest thing is the act of leaving
but it’s really what you left behind, mirrored eyes

I find it hard to justify, though with the curdling of time
goes the mind

you twist me up, knots up, and lips curled back into a half-scream

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