Tuesday 3/03/2015 11:53:00 PM

choices smother us. in the temporary utopia of if. and we are want to drown. all crimped and complicit to the conceit of commitment. and the strays it nutures with its scraps.

she's an hysterical oblivion. rich with neccesity. pale with excess. resolving to more fraction. explicit to dwindling pieces. discarding her skin a touch at a time.

shameless bones lost in a funeral of flesh.

rubber bands and broken pencils her only audience. geniuses and skeptics her dwindling friends. the variants still unresolved. time's bloody knuckles still pounding on the bald trenches between sex and vomit.

she doesn't have a name. still she searches for it.

Monday 3/02/2015 12:18:00 AM

listen to the dead. their words precede us. fractions of when overlooked among chapters of how. trust the hopeless. they have no reason to deceive. petulant buoys adrift  in the gap between lost and found.

the bursting lenses. obstinate matadors spoiling the horns. eyes struggle to see, but continue to fail.

her victims. all wet ink and wrinkled pages. inspiration's hungry theives. sexuality's appealing vultures.

the wet blade. the sharp of the paragraph's edge. all her silly monsters. counting their ropes.

just the remaining colors. some awkward metaphor.

all devils without their horns. and places trying to find people. .

Thursday 2/26/2015 12:46:00 AM

she watched the world end. another tired rerun in an endless series of repetitions. it went with neither a whimper nor a bang. it was simply static. the crackle of feedback. indifferent photons coupling and parting in a world without time. how could they ever understand. these obstuse particles that stubbornly cling to the angles of failing mathematics.

the hysterical numbers of bones. a chaotic division. the pollination of when. cardboard skeletons trying on the flood. weak, torn, but not broken.

 each moment a contract. every breath a promise.

the road swallows  each footstep. always hungry for more. the light wanders. indifferent to the geometry of time. a needle without thread. gravity without regret..

the slope of how. blunt razors mapping empty gardens. the echo of empty rooms in houses made of trust.

her ragged dolls. all broom piles and ultimatums.

doorways like starvations and epiphany. the keys frozen in the locks.

Wednesday 2/18/2015 12:38:00 AM

wrinkles in the memories. stray dogs in sealed envelopes. the concept of eternity. more snowflakes than glass. perfumed icicles and the perjury of loss. gravity listens often, but seldom speaks. we are all alone when we are falling

damaged skeletons. worn by reality's obtuse waterfall.

fractions compose. the caterpillar dominates the leaf. truth.  the adjective chases the noun.

linear villains struggle against the whims of planar time.

the chaos of five dimension simmers. bubbles over into the sixth.

we are fundamentally creatures of how. destroyed by the base logic that initially gave us life.

all dull pencils and torn pages. scratches that remain where the ink has faded. shouting at the fickle parallels that indicate defeat. 

need is geometric. shapes and the lines that make it easy to calculate. flesh is history. all wars and their incompetent victors. an arrogant kingdom populated with conmen and usurpers.

we're always solving for the hidden layers. as if they are real.

the cold finds her. the same as it does everyone. pieces at a time. in hungry tessellations of gravity that don't understand what falling  is.

the cold consumes. a frigid god. still  struggling to determine the temperature of forgiveness.

Saturday 2/14/2015 12:00:00 AM

every breath is a betrayal. her embrace. all its fragile monsters. like unsweetened chocolate and forgotten bee stings.

casual gods. carving paradise from stale coffee and cigarette butts.

we are an abundance of spaces. with no way inside them. we are a dry cough on the lips of eternity. no cure. only the sharp salinity of collapsing silence.

the choke of time. all used condoms and barking dogs.

the pot constantly simmers, but rarely comes to a boil.

she bargains with the soldiers. though she knows the war doesn't belong to them. she marks the path. though she's certain it leads nowhere.

it's only sober. pretending to recognize her. 

a putrid sniff of how. a frigid burst of when. a manic funeral.  the superlative treason of skin.

the broken author. the spoiled poet. the oblivious artist.

fraying adverbs drown in the dysfunctional narrative of touch.

the inexplicable proximity of surrender. the curious distance to close.

Sunday 2/08/2015 11:56:00 PM

the ground swallows. greedily consuming each footstep. the wind destroys. all the soft words and every defiant scream.

the cold sighs. tired of itself.

she absorbs the familiar distance. slowly sipping its broken resolve. brewing time in batches. as bitter as she sees fit to serve them.

watching... that lost and failing art. scraping for colors at the back of her proverbial closet.

the pageant of confession. too much law school in the poetry. the circumstance of winter. doves in the veins. wolves in the skin.

too many roads. not enough places. such is our nature. architects of doubt. soldiers of temptation. 

the war is quietly lost. the conflict is eternal.

it's farther simply because it's been too long. but it grows closer the more i travel the path.

she leans into the snow. letting it support her weight. she follows the fickle of the road. unconcerned with where it will take her. 

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