Wednesday 3/12/2008 11:53:00 PM

Turn over your tulips. Address the roots. Bold fingers stab at the stillness with sharp fingernails. Seeds huddled under the dirt imagine what the sun is. As children must imagine god. Big yellow suns for eyes amused by our long, messy births.

The blood is a measure. Distracted scale weighs the shadows in the picture. Petrified ghosts rejoice as the frame is shattered. She only requires the negatives.

Constructing lifetimes out of Popsicle sticks. No glue. Just the residue to sure the structure.

I'm only familiar with flowers in the fact that they exist. Don't send me any unless you wish them dead.

I was toying with the concept of starvation. Tasting the last breath . Rolling it around on my tongue like some expensive chardonnay. The sour of decision evident. In so many careless strokes.

Bored with the easy lie she moved onto more complicated variations of the same truth.

Here is your cake.

Just don't eat it.

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