a poem for today, 12 September 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of six sentences and its image]
There isn’t much work on the non-pathological, non-addictive, non-exploitative aspects of online erotic life, but there is great potential here.
Fuck me running.
A lot of us enjoy walking through life believing that everything we do is of the purest intent, and that when things don’t work out it must be someone else’s failing.
Try this on.
Cause once again becomes indistinguishable from effect, dissolved within the very positivity of the relation it supposedly produces.
Eww.
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