Saturday 5/31/2008 11:41:00 PM

shedding skin. layers of epidermus rationalizing the absence of skeleton. The rain so loud. As I converse with the walk. Through the dark. The crawl learning. How far it is. To knowing. Or not needing to anymore.

angels on the backs of men. saving us?

the mattress in the middle of the room demanding an explanation. as her hymen wept. red tears. do anything. i don't care what. just don't do nothing.

arranging the scabs. infections blossoming. through the soil. casual cures with faces made of men. bent daggers under her fingernails. searching for explanations. whom to want. Amongst the thunder. Long summer nights grieving loudly at the base of heaven. Gods slightly shy of saving the dead.

The funerals. Long. The euglogies. Short. The flesh adamant. To tell the story of the snake. The poison apple in us all. The beginning. And the end.

The future a cup of tea. Sweetened with when. The lemon was still sour. The future. In selfish incremements. Of skin not avoding what is to come. so sure. so confident. there is no tomorrow.

Friday 5/30/2008 11:28:00 PM

It just is. Meat on the plate. Random. Dead things. For the living to eat. Just chew.

It just is. Nothing supernatural. Bees pollinating. Sperm smashing into eggs.

All religious beliefs are rife with inconsistencies because no singular method can explain that which is random. It has no meaning. Therefore attempting to assign a consistent logic to it results in chaos.

Americans like to throw around the word Karma. Whenever bad things happen to bad people. Or good things happen to good ones. But bad things still happen to good people. And good things happen to bad people. Saying it's Karma is illogical. It doesn't happen on a consistent basis.

Religious folks like to attribute anything inexplicable to god. An omniscient grandad in the sky who has a plan for every second of life for each and every one of the six billion people on our planet. While it's theoretically possible for such vastly superior beings to exist, they would in fact, if they did exist, be just another species. Another life form. Having godlike powers does not a god make. God is humanity's relentless desire to assure itself that it deserves life and all the power that it has come to inherit from millions of years of evolution. Moreover a primitive and flawed rationalization of death.

Strictly speaking god is nothing more than time and circumstance. A collective explosion of genetics and environment that placed us at the top of the food chain on this one small planet. A lonely stone that is surely lost in a universe filled with infinite other organisms on countless other planets. The vast amount of lifeforms that exist on Earth indicate the likelihood of life elsewhere. Or life's inherent ability to adapt itself to and thrive in a diverse range of habitats.

If and when people ever come to understand they are not important. That they do not matter life will be better for everyone. People live just because it is. Life will still matter. Because it does. But no life will matter any more than any other.

Belief will be reserved for things worth believing in.

No one will be born again. No one will have eternal life. Everyone will live. Everyone will die. And it won't matter.

It just is.

5/30/2008 12:45:00 AM

Passage was close to time travel. The green dress on her young bones made that quite apparent. The world was closer than it had ever been. Little ants building castles in her panties. Passage had so many meanings. She couldn't decide which one fit.

Maybe then. Pale thighs in short skirts made of fists. Scabs explaining themselves to the infection.

Maybe now. The pus like a river. Limbs working. Time the one enemy we've always had in common. Even before it mattered.

The poison was always there. Only now we've found it. She remembers herself at last. Knowing it's too late.

Not to forget again.

Maybe then. When her pussy was still thorny with the poke of strangers. And now was only one of many candles not blown out on a very stale birthday cake.

She finds herself, but doesn't know if the search is over.

Thursday 5/29/2008 12:20:00 AM

The piglets in their little houses. Each one quite oblivious. Until the mortar. And the bricks.

Not falling down has its disadvantages. I miss the wolf. The bluster and pomp of fear. Exposed and hopeless as the world tumbles into to a temporary sanctuary. The pulse of skin counting the moments While we trace their footsteops. In thick pieces of chalk. That remind me of dying. In the deep scratches on the asphalt that we make as we walk.

Stepping cautiously over the bodies we don't want to be in. Peeling the glove from the thought in sweaty dismissals of whom. How. And when.

Cracking the egg. Poison in my palm. Close my fist and squeeze. Until there is a difference between then and now.

Tuesday 5/27/2008 12:50:00 AM

Her wine in little baskets at her hips. Her grace directly apportioned. Busy vaginas pollinating faces. Fingers. Lips. Sorting the skeletons that accompany these modest disasters often termed happiness.

It's like I've never slept. Been staring at the world from the beginning. The art gone from it. Every stroke a cliche. Empty placeholders for. Because I've looked too long. For saving in the demons.

I'm under. below the flame. Last lies burning off in a boil of skin. The wax forming. shapes of touch conceding to the molds we've laid out for them.

Filling.

Bad dreams. Communicating. The tatter of the dolls. She still sleeps with. Still names as if anyone would recognize.

Their faces. Let alone their names. Or how she still finds them in a sea of broken faces.

Monday 5/26/2008 12:39:00 AM

Close enough. Or so the source conceded. Bow ties and tuxedos deciding the shape of softer skeletons. In the when. In the if. Time would allow. Safe passage for such anomalies as us. The cardboard valentine. The metered smile. Approving negligently of the touch. The dress. In long sequences of bourbon and beer. The afterward discarding us. In favor of more potent illusions.

I could die that way. There in the past. But how then could it have happened. I could go there. Tease the grapes out of their shoes. But whose footprints who have led me here.

The angels with their fingers on the shutter. Coaxing dead cameras from their comas. Talking us into thinking we had seen. Heaven. or some place near to it. Where solvent gods still answer questions of skin.

In nightmares we still trust aren't real.

5/26/2008 12:10:00 AM

Lateral evolutions weaken the ape. Try on these triangles. whispered the alien from its hover copter. Discard your books. And your nimble thumbs. Concentrate on skin. That's the most you can hope to understand at this early stage.

Slaughter the cows. Steal the fish from the sea. Consume it all. Accelerate your starvation.

I was laughing because it was quite humours. The prospect of dying because we'd never estimated our future. The hours so proper. The minutes so slutty. Progress in doses. Easy to swallow. Harder to digest. As tomorrow approaches.

The luxury of life becoming a burden.

For all but the richest among us. This is what America wanted all along. But what no one expected. This is the legacy of capitalism. The apathy of the everyman.

For which all our children will suffer.

This is the car we drive. The condom we don't wear. Because we don't ever think about the end. Even when it's this close.

5/26/2008 12:07:00 AM

With so many gods to choose from you'd think I could find one to like. On the petition of heaven alll souls are auctioned.

Mine is stilll mine.

On the question of god all people are flattered that they were created in his image.

My image is mine.

My god is not so selfish. As to need the love of men.

Nor so foolish as to expect it.

Sunday 5/25/2008 12:44:00 AM

There are villains in the soup. For sure. Old stews that sat on the stove far too long. Flecks of gods in damaged men showing us glimpses of heaven. The real one. Not what the angels would have us believe.

Martyrs she squealed. All of them. Sweating the smell of panties like an unjust execution. Penises trying on every aspect of the woman. dissatisfied with the complexities of becoming men.

Flesh judging quickly. The accused. The desperate. The victims. All the same it speculated.

Justice is in the first taste. Everything after is punishment.

In the prick of the dominoes on their tongue. As each one knocks the next one down. Confessions of truth failing us. In the faults of skin that crumble like whole cities. Still the earthquake is a disappointment.

This whole disaster wasted on the dead.

5/25/2008 12:30:00 AM

The beach. Breathless thighs arguing with the ocean. There. Assuming the spectacle of her touch to be fascination enough to convince him. Time was wrong about passing.

Building her time machine from fallen hairs and bitten fingernails. Nibbles of skin his watchband spit up. The principle is constant. Slow yourself down. Arrive in the past. Find the bridge. Be it in hardened condoms or the soft whiskers of his greying beard.

It's not travel at all. It's just a matter of standing still long enough to notice what I've lost.

Saturday 5/24/2008 12:28:00 AM

The atmosphere expecting. Words. Or some kind of language. Flaps of skin like a broken screen door. Banging. Opening loudly. Closing louder yet. Time. Empty condom afterward. Playing the teacher to dead students.

Antonyms. The prevailing scent of when. Gravity felt weaker.

Coaxed by moments. Hours renting their tuxedos. Clean bones slipping into their new clothes. Worn by as much as wearing. The black and white. The brittle obstacles meant to make us love each other.

Sex. Molecules not convinced this is where they belong. Sex. A compendium of all the dares I traded for truths.

It's always over. It's always finished. A chorus of fingers manipulate tender jests. Alive once. Black hole admits. Life is only what it can suck out of others.

Thursday 5/22/2008 12:41:00 AM

Colors. Corrosive. Skin digesting the moods. Of mediocre lovers. The sugar hard. On decaying affections.

I am not a tick on timeline. Scoffing at the futility of touch. While I suck in my gut to squeeze myself into its rigid form. Minutes. speculating on the children they neglect. Hours. In crass reform. Pigs become bacon. People corpses. Food for maggots.

Years. Time is a clown. Face painted. Too many of it jumping out of a car that couldn't possibly fit them all. Life is a circus. Bored animals. Men with whips. And acrobats without a net.

The fickle treadmill. His look travels my skin. Anxious. Indifferent. I'm a magazine. To glance during a long shit. So many miles expended to get back to the start. See the finish forming the other sides. Pull the puppets from our hands. Just fingers. Pointing. At nothing in particular.

The obvious. That's what revelation is. Horrendous songs to listen to again and again. That's what epiphanies are destined to become. Awful truths. As the tortoise inches ever closer to winning.

The hare is still sure he's ahead.

There's the moral for your story. It often taste like victory, but it's usually just sex.

Wednesday 5/21/2008 12:51:00 AM

Alternatives. Casual dilemmas thicken the words. There are no lies. Haven't you learned? Just variations on truth and the dragons that guard the treasures they keep.

Old comes quickly, but young is slow. Happiness is piercing. A siren. Life is everything after. Life is a long process. Of recovery from the things we think we need. And most of all from those we cannot have.

The decisions. Corkscrews drawing out that deep cork. Releasing the drug. In fits of skin. Trying on all those people. Testing gowns I'll never dance in.

Pretty girls under the porchlight looking quite sad. As they drown in their own blood.

Tuesday 5/20/2008 12:25:00 AM

Amuse me. Make it hard to laugh. Soil. Preaching to her toes. Grass. Jesus naming the creatures again. They're still new enough? He begs.

Strong. Bitter words contradict. The melodies of the damned. I was a scarecrow for a while. Lying about what was guarded. To the hungriest. I was straw. And old shirts. No one would want to wear again. Telling the lies the grown tired of.

I was fields. Tall stalks. Striving for the sun.

I could hear their footsteps. Roll in the mud of each decision. Hookers raising their pieces. as the need tapers off. Small flowers on long stems. Hoping the rain will return. Hoping that the rain that has fallen will last.

Her skin like a drugstore. waking up. Tomorrow seems a punishment. The disease more relevant than the cure. Trying on new men.

They're all old she says.

Nothing's changed.

Monday 5/19/2008 12:26:00 AM

Deafness sour on her parting lips. Her eyes the verb. Her ass the adjective. In short lived narratives called touch.

Done.

The barbarians satifsfied. The clock indifferent. As she sauntered between now and if. The future on its toes. Windows everywhere. To glimpse. To imagine. The names of colors we'd so often used. The past on catapults. Without a clear target.

The deafness. The fungus of her fingers. Spreading. In deep infections. Unreachable itches.

The reservoir. Pennies gathered. In a thousand misplaced wishes. Collecting dimensions. Parallel to the moments. Travelling time in thrusts and jabs. Cutting her wrists with the sharp edges of the sheets.

Bored.

Uninterested.

Fingers and toes. Eyes and lips. Clay pots drying in an empty oast. Hardening so long.

Just to make the falling matter.

Sunday 5/18/2008 12:26:00 AM

Alone was far away. The island was close. Saviors not buoyant, but tall enough to walk on the ocean floor. Above the drowning. Just barely. Alive. Mosquitos. Stealing blood from the dying.

The itch deep and everlasting.

Clean is stark. Lonely disinfectants poison the wound. A treason of intent. Careful to purify, but not cure. Soiled claws. Naked tigers. Betrayed by their stripes. The truth is I was never even close. To dying. It was just that living seemed more real by the contrast.

The urgency. Spoiling every breath. Gods beneath the skin absolving. Infectious utopias. Temperate and fastidious. As any lie to which I can commit. Leopards doting on the kill. Spots. Full of flesh. Taste. Like a lion. Like a lamb.

The arbiter. The sense that time doesn't know at all. What it wants from us. Minutes. Rabid. I am bitten. Bleeding. Fangs sculpt the skin. To suit the kiss. I am sick. I am deaf. Unable to hear the whispers of the jury. The judge. The verdict. The proof that we are lost. Guilty. Innocent. Dead.

The quick. You can't prove me wrong if you don't understand the question. The nail close to the skin. Hammering.

In moments gone that can be forgotten. I remember who god is. The roar in my head as I say nothing again. I remember heaven. And don't really miss it.

The library. Minutes in franctic transitions. From flesh to blame. The drug in calm contrition. Prepositions of touch. The law of alone. Arresting eager lips. In fatal integers. I'm not there. Nor will I ever be. Where I am. At this moment.

Until life can determine the difference between death and birth.

Too far. Too close. Name the bones. All broken. Remove her dress. See the tits. As small as she is intelligent. Prioritize the flesh. Puppets on short strings. Still can dance.

Control. Isn't that enough. The math shapes the man. The woman. The equation in divisions of when. Anything mattered. Never forgetting. Chosen like a scar. Taken like a drug. Solace. A black door. A white room.

No color anyhwere.

Friday 5/16/2008 01:12:00 AM

Structure. The dark counting toes. Fingers. Naming the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. As it comes from behind her. In quick autopsies of the moment the cause of death is determined.

Delirium. Torn parachutes carry on fingertips of wind. Feign flight in their falling.

Candles sweat. And cameras bark. Half way up broken ladders. In buildings on fire. On dolls we once thought real. The skin falls off. And I begin to love the skeletons that they are left.

Awakened by the sun. Closing my eyes again. Trying to see.

The blood on those pretty pitchforks. Panties searching for their pussies. For their periods. Blood and children all the same to skin. Flaunting the obvious. Men and gods the same when you're a woman. Easy to manipulate. Lost in a seas of tits.

I think Satan was right when he said man shouldn't have free will. It's wasted on us.

Can't wake up. Peel the polish from her ass. In chokes of color no one sees. Can't fall asleep. Dissemble the skeleton. Label the bones. For later. When war is tired enough. To consider surrender.

Lost.

Life is just this. These hours. Doomed to contemplate all the things that haven't happened. Life is strong. It goes on and on. Life is fragile. It's constantly tripped. By the footprints we made before it found us.

I am lost. Too far ahead. Waiting for the world to catch up. Telling lies I already know they won't believe.

Now. Like a guillotine. Comes crashing down. Headless aggregates assume the limbs left behind by the dead.

Wednesday 5/14/2008 12:28:00 AM

Testing the battery she startled at the shock. Of closing the circuit. A small touch. Power. The wince of a skin transcending touch. Charged. Iterated. Exponentially. In a pandemonium of careless motions warring to extract pleasure from the tirelessly hollow endeavors of men.

It is the pulse of America. Beauty. Lust. Indulgence. Imperfections exploited. All bonafide business models. They all want to be save from themselves.

Avoiding the question she trudged on toward the voices. The prohibition dense in her plans for a new world. Life arrives in hiccups. Nervous stutters of then spoil her utopias.

She blames the drugs all brains produce. Loud songs in her head and rumpled sheets beneath her comforter. The regrettable histrionics of flesh based organisms. Accordions of sex wheezing out fragments of men. Love speculating on the wealth of my regret.

Slighted angels blowing their bugles into the ears of deaf men. Describing heavens they've never seen.

Tuesday 5/13/2008 12:01:00 AM

Numbers in the spaces between touch and feel. Colors to negotiate the shape of alone. Skin is a cryptograph. Sex is the solution to it. The riddle is what to do with all this confidence.

Seal the monster up in this cage of ribs. Where everything goes to die. Or let it loose upon to feed upon this voracious landscape of flesh.

Either way.

There's still this war. And all these corpses. To bury.

Either way.

No one's hurt. Except those that I was trying to save.

So many missing time machines make it impossible to know.

Where I was.

Where I was going.

Too many iterations of us. I can't tell if we ever knew each other.

It's just time. Wearing bras too small. Scratching in old ledgers. Failing to subract. Each dimension with its own threat. Bleeding soft. THe reamins of too much ink ony my wrists. Pharmaceuticals unquenched in the dark of my drawer. Until something remembers what I cannot. Too much of it. The truth mushrooming. The subtle destruction right has wrought. Ambivalent. Transparent as a whore.

I'm right. I've gone too far back. There is no time machine anymore. I'm there. Like a wasp. Counting the stings to kill the ant. I'm there. Without a time machine. Trying to prepare myself for when it's gone.

An failing even before it's happened.

Sunday 5/11/2008 01:49:00 AM

Dominoes deciding whether to fall. The giant clinging to the vine. In bare combustibles. Love is a target. We just random throws of darts.

I was looking back in time. Seeing it look at me. In years that had already happened. Still no truth emerging from the fates we'd shared.

I was casting spells. Working the magic of the timeline. Pieces of tomorrow spilling into my potions. The paradox blossoming into somewhere new.

We were creating each other. In places neither of us had been. High on the drug of missing ghosts. Crippled hearts that walk. Only to return to the graves they never saw dug. Bodies. Corpses on the edges of the decision that would make this timeline stick.

There are so many others that would be better, but this is the one that I want.

Alone.

Wearing tomorrow against my thighs in whispers of when. Time was still some place we had in common.

The little lies time tells to make us happen. All the ways in which we never do.

Saturday 5/10/2008 01:53:00 AM

It's different now. I am. Different. Life. Pieces of brick. Crumbling. Still enough to walk upon. Fall down. Quietly. Scrape knees already skinned. No injuries. Just muscle visible. Still.

Stubborn bones. Arguing with the bandage. Useless cycles. Heal. Tear again. Until only your own words know who you are.

It would be naive to say I've ever known anyone other than myself. It would be weakness to admit how often I've wanted to.

Know them.

Be known by.

Matter. At all. After the night is over.

Matter. What is it?

Just pieces of oblivion endlessly making us smaller. Matter. Fragments of forever whoring the lie of touch.

That I could feel. The bony shape of trust. The morbid density of lust. Or repair the the balloon before it pops.

Matter.

My molecules invading his.

Like we were already back there. And the future couldn't stop us. Because everything had already happened.

Thursday 5/08/2008 12:24:00 AM

She was foul. Her entire body busily surfeited by too many tugs on her vagina. The politics of touch excavating. Forgotten graves. Exhuming the balding bones. Further evidence. That truth is multiple choice. Pointed. And curved. Like candy canes. The colors running on a bias. Where all the sweet things go to obsess. Over the process of changing.

Becoming sour.

A fountain of semen spitting out and swallowing ceaselessly. With the calm panic of one who knows how fickle love must be. To leave us with the decisions that it does.

My demons. In their best heels. Trying on dresses they can never afford. My demons. Like swatches of skin too delicious to discard.

Even after the meat has gone rotten. and the bread is stale.

It tastes better then. If you chew slowly.

Little lies on a simmer. Finally coming to a boil.

Still cold. Still scratching their names into empty folds of skin. Left over after she's undressed.

Close enough some would say. Close enough to wrong to be right. Or at least have some hope of finding it.

Choice is a victim. We are the consequence,

Wednesday 5/07/2008 12:30:00 AM

I'd like more choices. Two aren't enough.

When I choose not to decide no one listens.

He has the road maps on his ass. I just didn't follow it. Now I don't know where I am, except that no one else is here. I shunned those little conformities. And now I've been shunned by the bigger ones.

I think god sells lemonade on the side of road. In wooden stands. Out of plastic pitchers. Like any child would. Broke and naive to the conditions of humanity. I think god is the big bad wolf in all those fairy tales where children get eaten. Cut his belly open. Save them. Save everyone.

From the paranoia. The hysteria of those that would try to control us.

I think love isn't that different. Serving best only those that would abuse it. Taking advantage of the rest.

I think I'm thirsty. And I'd gladly buy any one's lemonade. Including god's. if it could cure my thirst.

But I'm just silly like that. I want results.

5/07/2008 12:04:00 AM

They have the advantage.

The funny thing is people think it matters. How well they cook. How much money they have. How pretty that once were. As if time can discern between the billions of flies constantly landing on its excrement. Or that it would want to. Or ever would try. To care about the insects that live in its shit.

If I were a nihilist I'd say that the end is near. But I'm not. So I'll just say that it's watching. Has never been very distant. And I wouldn't mind at all if it finally came.

We can buy and sell so many things. Without profiting from a single transaction. That's the paradox of being American.

Having everything.

And nothing.

Tuesday 5/06/2008 12:08:00 AM

I was only talking to myself. Afraid to say it out loud. Camping out in my skin. Thinking the whole time about being somewhere else again. I was reading silently. Because that's always how I read him. Turning pages in the dark. Feeling for the impressions of the letters.

People are like long division. I like to do it short. Upside down. Discarding the remainders.

I always listened, but it was hard to hear. A bark is a bark no matter what it's trying to say. The world spills in, no matter your barricades. Pieces of finger. Bits of faces. A docile cancer that begins in the head and suddenly erupts into every extremity. The comfort of touch slowly poisoning our ample purgatory.

The problem isn't that we're waiting for heaven, but that it's not waiting for us.

It's not the dying that's a problem. It's how long it takes.

People are time. In its most basic state. The thrust of space pressing down hard. On tender atoms. Undecided. The grin of the quark. The frown of the electron. The spatial dances of the tiny elements that makes us feel so large.

And so small.

Monday 5/05/2008 12:44:00 AM

The window was open. Just a bit. The darkness wheezing in careless and distracted through a lazy mesh. It was getting warmer. The seasons change for some. Their environment the detonator. The seasons change. Stoic and uninterested in how we are affected.

She watched. As her skeletons tried on their new flesh. Certain some would fit. Or at least, that she could make it so. The puke of skin paramount in all her decisions. Both selfish and selfless.

She wasn't sure she'd ever been the latter, but assumed there must have been moments. When even open windows still couldn't see. What was right in front of them.

And that she had determined was her only advantage.

A lie is only as good as the person who tells it. They're seldom told by good people. But when they are I listen.

The window was barely open. The darkness wasn't even listening to what I had to say. I was trying to write. Pretending that I could.

Close that window and still still see. The people on the other side of it. Become that glass that knew. What was so close. So far away. Lie again. Say I could see. What mattered most.

Or ever had. Tried to mean anything.

Little explosions more than enough to kill everything.

Sunday 5/04/2008 01:06:00 AM

That's how I learned how to add negatives. Bird cages neglected. Distilling the grin. That's how I counted. Backward from zero. Hours in deciding whom to believe. Or if I could believe anyone. Hearing them listen. The wool at the back of her neck itching to say words still unheard. Coughs of confession erupting in bleak bouts of skin. Not stretched far enough. To assume I could know.

What I never would.

The backdoor. In its rattles telling of guns not loaded. fake suicides threatening as the dress wore on her. Make me savage. Make me woman. With a sniff of the man. Until I am as high as any drug would be willing to take me. Until I can't remember why we started this barter.

Deaf gods listening in on conversations ready to jump. Three legged gods limping closer as I flirt with edge.

I'm not awake. I'm not asleep. I'm nowhere. I'm nothing.

I'm yours.

5/04/2008 12:31:00 AM

Wake up. The electricity is on again. Skipping through the walls. Headless zombies stumbling calmly toward more dead.

He was reading a magazine. About science. The way molecules arrange to become different elements. Hangmen of people. Games to guess what we already know. Turning pages in his head. Little slaps. On her ass. To fill in the question marks missing from her cheeks.

She was sleeping. Not dreaming at all. But trying hard to remember what it was like.

Answer me.

Or at least acknowledge you heard the question.

The world is a dress dripping with women. Buttons, sleeves and hems. Anticipating my every stitch. The needle. Choices. Bad ones. slithering through. Connecting the edges. Until I'm small enough to wear.

The world is a mountain made of pussies all bigger than the biggest dick.

It's easy to believe in everything. And nothing.

I tried to reason with the chasm.

It just said.

Wake Up.

I'm not the problem.

Shit your diaper. I might be the mess, but it's not for me to clean up.

Go to sleep. Dream more of your scarecrows. Nailed to empty crosses. Wake up. Pretend the dream is gone. That I can see again. That I know how far.

Saturday 5/03/2008 01:52:00 AM

Big sticks debating what the colors are on her back. When she wears it like a cape. When she finally takes it off. Time the skeleton. Thought the flesh.

He can't wake her, but he tries still the same. Chemicals pretending to know the girl who loves them far too much.

Beginning. Shy strobe lights of skin. Blinking on. In nervous repetitions of touch. I can't feel what I'm holding. My fist has gone numb. I can't grab at what you're flaunting. It's too close for me too even see it.

The time line diverged and she felt herself stranded. In a world not her own. The genie slipped back into its lamp laughing at all the wishes she hadn't realized she'd made.

Lovers. Placid doses of purgatory, Selling out of stock heaven at half price.

Flesh. Cul de Sacs of skin. Anticipating the bulldozers.

Condoms on the floor. Coloring book of faces I've not filled in. Grey outlines. The squeeze of tomorrow demand. The stutter of yesterday still asking. If there is anything left to subtract.

Friday 5/02/2008 01:23:00 AM

Her shoes untied. Bent down on the shadow. Subtle monsters on worn disguises. Running hard to the corner of the triangle. Counting the dictionaries in her fingers. The encyclopedias in her eyes. He was ready to forget. The weaker demons. Begin the argument with the stronger breed.

It's like she was ice melting. The cold bored with trying to teach us warm.

She said nothing. She said everything. As we sorted what was left of her moments. Tiny sirens always going off. Chaos in small doses.

Let the victims make their peace with these broken time lines. Let these hours decide which ghosts are worth heeding. I've already seen the future. I'm still not frightened enough.

To change.

Dead things. Long sticks for poking what appears gone. Armies of skin to defend hollow graves.

I'm just waiting. I've always been waiting.

Not knowing how to make it end.

All the angles intersecting. Too generously. Genuflecting. As geometries tend to do. Life is a massive organism and we are one tiny line in the chasm of its fingerprint.

Boxes. Pouting. Two triangles lost in the circumference of alone.

5/02/2008 12:11:00 AM

I think I missed your call. I miss many calls trying to decide when to answer.

The patterns. The flaws form them. These imperfections become our identity. Little doses of antidote slowly killing me. Lost Alices. Growing so large. Then shrinking down to nothing. Time pretending to know where I am it. A realtor selling empty spaces.

Cutting the cake into ample slabs. Of all of us. Metaphors stabbed into the paws of foxes running away from the hounds. The fiction fluctuates. In wheezes of when. I can't remember. Names. Faces. Stalled in moments sneaked away from us. By waiting. Pretending that life goes on.

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