Tuesday, October 26, 2010

I feel an obsessive desire to consume Wittgenstein

The sensation I work from a script
I say, “X!” expecting some retort
But you’ve instead said “Alpha.”
The slap those times you deviate
I don’t know the answer
And Gödel laughs at my pale attempts
Less words, your head rests on my chest
Gently tracing muscles’ lives
Until the sun’s full set
Then you leap up, tongue out, declare:
“You drive me wild.”

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