Thursday 2/23/2017 12:39:00 AM

there were repetitions. the mind thrives on such things. there was wind. and water. and struggle. always the struggle is what calibrates the flesh.

the pain found its way to the surface. deaf comedians telling their jokes in clubs and whips. as if bone and blood can articulate what is living.

the wait wore her easily. loose fabric gathering in all the wrong places.

the edge of the road narrowed. the way back home choked. every mile another knot in the lengthening noose.

she gladly let the laughter spend her. confident in reciprocity, surrender, or both.

eagerly she negotiated the poisons. moments of paradise snatched from hell's kiss.

there was closeness. and distance. this is the paradox of intimacy. or what we mistake for it.

I go too far.

this my strength. and my weakness.

Tuesday 2/14/2017 11:15:00 PM

everything was close. in that callously exemptive way that all grief gathers. the moment not quite there. yet excrutiatingly near.

the silence spun. kinetic and untamed. her flesh the tether. her want the clasp.

everything was fading. the colors going deaf. the bridges choking on the rigor of perspective.

ache simmered. all cliffs and ropes. counting their empty hours. in soiled blankets and knots undone.

the puzzle swelled. trembling with the solution.

the rain fell lightly. the sun never shone.

2/07/2017 01:14:00 AM

we weren't there. not yet. numb to the faltering credibility of touch.

the path that led us there simultaneously led away. it's a simple paradox that complicates everything.

i wasn't prepared to try. it felt enough just to let it happen. a long string taut on the kite. a thin bargain struck with the wind.

summer swept to winter. in the shallow cuts that time inspires. we weren't there. nor were we any closer. yet we had travelled so far.

the end emerged. softened by the blindness of perspective. she knew how sharp the corners. but not where next they might cut.

she understood the math. the biology of numbers. the swell of distance as it erupts.

it was the getting there that never made sense.

Wednesday 2/01/2017 12:12:00 AM caromed. it ricocheted. a pile of broken glass in the tense fist of fate.

we let it spit. we let it grieve. petitioning the lies embedded deep inside our flesh.

it lived. a brief explosion. more hunger than nourishment.

it pounded. it shook. choices spilling into panic. chances erupting with want.

it died. the same way everything does. quietly at first. then much louder.

Tuesday 1/31/2017 12:34:00 AM

The french toast was really good. French toast at 3am always tasted better. They had that in common. Everything else was changing.

You drive too fast. Yeah, but you don't drive at all. I get us there.

You've got the lawyer tomorrow. The realtor's after that. Help me pack up this stuff. Silence.

The remains of the french toast growing sticky and hard on her plate. Her coffee getting cold. She hadn't even been hungry to begin with. It was just pity and loyalty that pushed them out the door. Sat them at that diner and waited for life to erupt between them.


It's always better in the dark. Alone like this. Taking care of myself. Forgetting there's a world outside my head. It's not selfish if you're saving yourself. Or maybe that's exactly what it is.


What am I supposed to do. That was her standard query. I didn't have an answer. I didn't even understand how she could ask me the question.

I could reply. You should be responsible. You should take care of me. Or at least not expect me to take care of you. But I'd already said that so many times. Pissing into the wind. That's all the answers were. Or ever would be. She was granite. A granite child relying on anyone and everyone other than herself. That's who she was.

And who was I? I was the morbid product of her sickness. That's all I had ever been. A pinprick of light in the shadow of her disease. A pinprick of light surrounded by darkness. Nowhere to go in any direction.


I want to tell her that I understand, but I don't.

Saturday 1/28/2017 11:28:00 PM

the distance lurches into focus. a redolent affliction. heavy with its laboring scars. all her butterflies wingless. all her fevers spent. on fickle diseases of the heart.

the roots wander. the choices are breathless.

every moment stutters. the awkward science of conceit. it'll never be this close again.

the apple rots. the temptation weakens. it changes. in all the worst ways. it forgets. the cruel amnesia of touch. wears our bodies like crutches.

fractions of skin. jumping rope. collecting emptiness. bits of treasure in the lies we tell ourselves.

fingers shouting. voices mute. counting the growing piles of stone. all the mazes of how intersecting.

shallow fractures pierce the flesh. the brightness of the pain is a welcome distraction.

the continuity blisters. the memory fills with puss.

time's dull blade tears rather than cuts.

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