Saturday 4/26/2008 12:46:00 AM

The pancake of her skin softly waiting to be turned. Bathing in the waning syrup still left on his plate. Time is a corpse and we are constantly trying to ressucitate. Cadavers and ghosts. Flaunting iluusions of touch.

Newspaper skin smearing and staining his shoelaces as he bends over to redo the knot. Women like headlines. Outrageous and abrupt. Perfumed with semen. Because that is what god wants.

For women to bleed and men to sop it up. Dirty dishrags that are never too filthy to absorb a little more muck.

She's just an angel. Or at least, what some imagine angels to be. Heavy wings on her back offer no release from gravity. Only expectations from the ignorant.

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