Sunday 7/23/2017 03:21:00 AM

say it softly. if it can even be said at all. the truth. your truth. no one else's. the roar of traffic on the street as you walk. dead matches on your tongue.

the world is scalene. the angles rarely match.

our determination is heavy. a full bag of stones that beats our spines as we walk.

our choices are plain. scraps of paper. scribbles of ink. a dose of poison at the bottom of  a honey pot.

the world seems solid, but it's anything, but. all suspension bridges and abandoned bus stops.

so many maps without places on them. so many fists trying to hit.

we spend the fire. flame by flame. never knowing when the light will expire. and we'll be bankrupt again.

i could be hurt. let the grief smother me in its thick fog. surrender to being lost and finally be free again.

instead, we choke down the sharp edges. imaginig the puzzle can still  be solved. with so many missing pieces.

Tuesday 7/18/2017 12:32:00 AM

corners spent. on too much distance. the urgent now. louder still. the end came and went. in scrapes and trembles. in flakes of bone and puddles of spit.

as we named the monsters. and convinced ourselves to love them.

all the weak diseases that flourish in our hysteria.

near enough she thought. as the end came into focus. all thick tinder and loose claws. the steps several. the fall immediate.

time she argued. as it shouted back. soiled pillows in pristine beds. little nails in the structure of big bridges. the warning was subtle. the collapse was not.

the angles take shape. howling as they do. flesh preaches from its hungry pulpit. tender predators chase the wounded.

Monday 7/10/2017 02:29:00 AM

the road choked on her. and she on it. the friction of the sun. deciding how far it is.

all the blind miles. that never see us. all the deaf roads that fail to hear. the chalky metaphors of curious thieves. as the world turns its corners. and the math forgets.

all the far away places that fester within us.

pale bridges. narrow to the clench of the wind. and the howl of gravity's madness.

spent by the path. indebted to the distance.

the weight of the miles. soft stones cut against the hard edges.  burnt skin sticky with blood. the road sings its songs. all we can do is listen.

too far to have gone. not far enough to have come.

Thursday 7/06/2017 12:21:00 AM

long strings. short kites. the dead keep track. the miles are vain.

suffer the shell. exhault the cage.

she listens for the distance. even as close as they've been.

the lies come easily. the truth resolves. choices like broken glass. cut their way inside. the potential of lost. paints her footsteps in permanent ink.

it's only the how that gives pause. amongst the stroke of faltering psychopaths. a little rain. to wake the wind. a blunt blade to coax the wound. until the lies are soft enough. to almost be worth believing.

the reluctant math of seldom skin. polished. like so many mirrors. we wager the bridges. confident in our deceptions.

we chase the sun. hounds in muzzles digging at their cages.

the tower leaned. the jester sung. flesh wagered. well spent. on broken machines.

Monday 7/03/2017 01:36:00 AM

i remember how it began. and how it ended. i can't decide which one matters more. or if neither is important.

the yellow sun tells its stories. in bits of flesh and drops of blood. a proper thief amongst so many imposters.

the dark clouds write their verses in often liars and seldom lovers. sages of circumstance in time machines made of velvet.

i do recall the first encounter and the last. they were much too similar i've decided.

the stop signs sing their songs. in steep bridges and absent goodbyes.

the wind listens as the distance becomes us. it's always that far. always has been. nothing changes except how much it hurts.

Friday 6/30/2017 10:56:00 PM

We're not there yet. Not even close. We might never be.

 We're human. The only measure is in the echo from the hollow in our heads.

 He shifts in his position. Exhausted of all his interest.

 It sways. Opportunity is a pendulum. I'm not prepared to fight for anything.

 Intimacy is an anvil. It tries to drown us. It usually succeeds.

 We like to say how much we love each other. And maybe, sometimes, we even do. But it's all just speculation and wishful thinking. None of it's real.

Our flesh is a storybook. Full of monsters, paupers, maidens and heroes. And happy endings are perilous and expensive.

 We're all liars. We have to be to survive.

 It blisters and scorches. Because chemistry is dangerous.

 It wears us. In smudges and grins. the sour of expectation. Surreptitiously destroying us.

 We're not there. We were never even close. We're still here. Just like we've always been. Noses pressed to the glass. Searching for a way inside.

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