Thursday 1/24/2008 12:01:00 AM

How does the doll stand up on soft legs. The wax still loathe to coagulate. She kneels. Barfing on empty thrones. Until the king calls her name.

The mold is cut in half to determine where the defect is. Be it in the product or the ideal.

Her taffy skin betrays her cause as she attempts negotiations with the robotic arms that have made her so. Blunt candy canes become daggers with enough licking. They woke me up, but forgot to tell the dream to stop. And now I can never be sure if I'm real or just imagining myself.

These soft skeletons struggling to hold up my many skins. Juggling the now against the then in sharply spinning plates. Fairy tales cinching tight like dry, raped vaginas.

Some careless burlesque act that doesn't know when to stop. Electric hymens. Corn kernels exploding to the thrill of paper bag penises.

We're all instant coffee. Dolls left without any clothes on them.

Billy Jones said...

These pictures you paint in verse always astound me and make me wish I could steal your pain and give it to one who needs it more.

Sweet dreams, sweet, sweet dreams I wish for you to make up for the nightmares you live today.

ap said...


it's not really so much pain as it is hopelessness.

orgasmik said...

They comes out of you in torrents and floods; Peeling a face that you don't have.
Making words live as far as they'll take you .
Perhaps as ambassaders-- the only bond to relate to something called existance....
Wonder sometimes, how secure you feel in your words. Feel their stone weight oppressions struggling to break into bubbles of nothingness.
Hammer your rock if you must -- who knows what you might sculpt out of the moans of your entity

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