Saturday 4/14/2007 12:14:00 AM

Waking up from those ugly dreams. Pungent echoes of reality stomp their way inside the beauty of delirium. The cake is cut. With a dull knife. The icing licked. From filthy fingers.

We are sleeping. We are awake. Arthritic lovers chase the poison of the skin. In paint by numbers sex. Lonely poets wield their vices like weapons. Forgotten men imagine themselves remembered. In syllables like stiffened gauze. In punctuation like the stabs of orgasm. All our emptiness counting toward its detonation.

Falling asleep to these beautiful sorrows. Depression's sultry tango refusing to break the hold. When the words run out the people are all I have. Perfect strangers. Foiled kings on an empty chessboard.

The zippers on their lives waiting for for someone to notice that they're broken.

Waking up to those beautiful people. In those ugly situations. Sandpaper to satin. It's easy to love them. Knowing it's over.

Titles are easy. It's the story that's hard.

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