Wildlover's Blog

Daniel Good and Daniel Bad

Lay me down in business class, and pilot me away from the social politics of a bareboned look.

Wrap my legs around your still lipped mind. Wrap my lefts around your rights. Up and gone.

Daniel Good and Daniel Bad come calling every day, barefoot in the garden of Dwayne Smith. Culver City midnights, rounded in halfmooned light, which skirts across the bays of other places, more fortunate in their whereabouts.

Twist my hips and break my salted quips of their bold melancholy. Rusty, hinging geometrics, so unwilling in bent light. I ache with the pressure shifts. My palms are white and drawn – I am a ghost of hands.

Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment