rainwolfkin

i had a friend once who tried being gay. it didn't work out for him, but at least he could say that he tried it. he used to have one of those magnetic poetry packs, where you write poems on you refridgerator. we used to drink too much jack. we used to pound our bodies with as much junk as we could find and i think my brain melted to the side of my skull. in moments of clarity, i think he found expression. i still remember one of those lines, inserted into a strip of nonsense on the fridge in a house with bullholes in the walls:

'like fiddles playing rain'

i miss connection.