Monday 1/26/2015 12:10:00 AM

time grunts. a complacent suicide of turbines and combustion.

her thoughts give way. a fragile staircase. leading to rooms she's only glimpsed. the cold arithmetic of expectation boasting its mass. and the eager velocity of skin. all too willing to become the accelerant.

the moment sways. a casual pendulum. promising every direction. committing to none.

we spend our youth imagining a soft world. devoid of the fevers that sicken us with both desire and grief.

when we are well again. when we are older. and all those corners have become hard. we find ourselves longing for the those ungrateful diseases.

it receives no name. it bears no mark. it only is as any memory must be. an empty plate. the remaining crumbs still a temptation.

Friday 1/23/2015 12:22:00 AM

the future came and went. in bad decisions. melted ice cream and stubborn walnuts. her voice was loose. it sagged under the weight of her words.

life tumbled in. a caucus of addicts and visionaries. creasing the paper. manipulating the moments.

sex found her. young and eager. all the subtle charisma of a box belching open.

the darkness overtook her. swimming creases. sudden lightning. everything gelatin.

she vibrated and hummed. a motor without wheels.

he heart skipped rope. her mind played dominoes.

angles. pieces. rules. she followed them all them like a treasure map.

still, eventually they all fell down.

no winners. just the empty board.

and the stains where we lingered longer than we should have.

Wednesday 1/21/2015 12:34:00 AM

severed strands manifest. circumstance as obstuse as the angle are.

the particles. the essense of when. time's hurtful chorus. repeating.

the cold is a beautiful entity. more human than any of us. a hungry child. a stern parent. a scab on the knee. a kiss on the lips.

the winter is a poet. more prolific than any man or woman. a millenia of verses. each one eclipsing the next.

i don't know what love is. i've only used words to imagine it.

i've glimpsed its colors. i've even heard its voice.

it's random. it's dots on dice.

it's the collateral of a sin. it's the debt are all born with.

it's the sweet of a bridge. the sour of distance.

Saturday 1/17/2015 11:37:00 PM

they were everywhere and nowhere. they came. were taken. they never left. small faces and large ones. fragile like balloons. alone among each other.

the sleeping rabbit warned them. the punishment for rebellion. the stick. the fallen ears. eternity clamping shut.

strangers came and went. frankensteins and draculas. feasting on their innards. leaving behind the empty skins.

they'd run. they'd try to sometimes. some would almost escape.

the sleeping rabbit punished them. blunt discipline in a thunder of fists. dead faces limp on the stick. the rabbit. its fallen ears teasing the shadows from the corners of their dungeon.

they'd let them. they had to. until they were gone. lost inside themselves. plastic dolls still sick with blood and guts.

they'd run. they'd try to get away. but the sleeping rabbit always found them.

Friday 1/16/2015 11:49:00 PM

the precision overwhelms her. the science bullies. a consensus of pain. a machine of skin. hungrier than the source.

she bargains with the colors. she negotiates the want. a petition of beautiful girls manages her nausea.

she worships the obvious gods. convinced of their impotence.

the slope. an infinite disease. the climb. an impeccable consequence. small knots in the rope that gathers us from the bottom.

the terrible positions that bids us start. the awful finish that spoils our pause.

her temporary voice. like burnt rubber and poorly combusted gas. an elaborate bridge. only broken by an always hungry war.

she understands there are heroes. though she's unclear  how they differ from villains.

colors run in  the rain like perfect murders.

Thursday 1/15/2015 12:10:00 AM

the world ends quietly. in whispers and asides. the skeleton discards the used flesh. Everything is currency. Even death. she chases the needle. as it flaunts the thread.

i don't tell stories. i am told by them.

suicides evolve. dismantling the structure of the act. both nectar and bee stings. brilliant and desperate. a lonely wolf chewing on a house of brick.

the hours are talkative. chattering with bones and semen. and empty bodies full of want.

the slender discipline of choices. the quiet chaos of decision.

touch's seldom assassins. boast their murders

i never ask. how far it is.

instead, i measure the distance by each step.

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