Sunday 11/30/2008 01:08:00 AM

Soft on the pedestal. Her fingers. An array of engorged penises. Useless save to thrust at the dark holes. Gathering nothing. Her tongue a red tampon with the wet string hanging down under the grunt of her piss. Plebeian. Save to illustrate the madness of touch.

Her menstruation ticking inside her panties. Termites hollowing out the dead wood. Small explosives disguised as sex.

She was wearing him. Long ladder of man boasting toward the sky. In itches of butane. Parables in flint. Sparking loudly, but rarely granting flame. The calm breeze from below her blouse threatening to put him out altogether.

The concrete she drew her lips from was drying fast. She hurried to tell him where the window still gawked. With fish on hooks and men undressed. Little dolls with their feet chewed off. Slouching toward absent Edens.

Feeding the stray dogs with the bones from her jaw. Nothing left to say. Words too deaf. To hear. The delicate choke of empty beds.

To weigh. All those bloated sheets. So many dead things to count. The geometry of people. Is that we don't fit together until all the angles are broken. The insects carving their tunnels through dense oblivions. Pussies and tits. A landscape of humanity built on the morality of lonely men. Lying gods. Keep us in wait. For barren utopias. The world we have created keeps us human.

It's like we're all communists. When we touch. And greedy capitalists when we fall in love.

Hungry greyhounds chasing the hare. In her silence. There's nothing quite as real as betrayal. When I was young enough I could recall. Each color that went with the skin. I knew by whom I wanted to be used.

Now it's all metaphor. And waiting for the world to catch up to us. Because everything is slower. And everyone is ugly.

When you've always been there.

Saturday 11/29/2008 12:39:00 AM

The mouse in the collider. He learned so much. Wine? He asked. We never drink wine together. We don't even look. When the world stops. We just sit on our plastic horses. And wait. For spit from the ejaculation to drown out. All those bends in our throat that threaten to speak about who we were.

I don't like wine she said.

We don't have to build a machine to take us back. I can do it easily. Just wait. Listen. Let me breathe. My bed still remembers the scars you made in it. We don't have to laugh. Pretend it's funny when we know it's not. Just shut up. Let me think. Give the darkness a chance to spread.

The black in my glass coloring our kiss. Contrast. Isn't that what we need. To know the light. To be able to find it. To die. Blind. Like earthworms culled from the soil. Left to dry in the sun.

I'd say it's wrong, but I don't think it is. To embrace the light no matter how harsh. To go to the future knowing your past is gone. I've only lost what was never mine.

Tame the crocdile. Crave its bite.

Friday 11/28/2008 01:28:00 AM

The atom on its knees. Choking on the tether. Life. Bones and meat. In a puddle of time. Loud, dirty footsteps beat the future into the man. Every muscle a broken scale. Measuring the darkness with empty hands.

If I multiply. Then it's near that cusp. Where everything is weightless. Sparse gardens on the rim of her breasts. Turning solid. Slowly. Until each petal has fallen. And we start over again. With new seeds.

Chasing the timeline with a cold oven and a hot poker. Finding no one.

The atom on its leash. Jumping rope. Not enough wine. Too much substance. The numbers coming closer. Feeble gods with their zipperss still open. Nobody laughing.

The knives taking their time. To honor her throat.

Her blood remembering Schrodinger. Wondering if it was.

The dead cat. Its poison. So much like love. We are alive. We are dead. It's all the same. Inside this box. The atoms on the outside powerless. The friviolous math of the penis. Too apt to add. The nothings.

No one can see. No one knows. What time it is.

Wednesday 11/26/2008 12:52:00 AM

In the square. At the corner of the circle. The numbers agree with the flesh. Collapsing tangents send roses to unbroken atoms. The explosion was small, but I heard it from far away. Limbs on a conveyor belt falling into people.

In the angles. The sour grimace of geometry. Everything. Everyone is an equation. A chess games of numbers to determine the victor and the casualties. Legs over ass divided by penis. There's the formula. To determine need.

Fist in his pants. The balloon off to heaven. By the slip of the string. Gravity the punchline. In a series of impossible and offensive stories.

The pig. Negotiating with the wolf. Bacon is still bacon. brick is still brick.

You can't blow my house down.

Tuesday 11/25/2008 12:45:00 AM

The roads were joyous and hostile. The engine was ambivalent. Driving. Thoughtlessly. The cantankerous continuum of suburbia hurtling dead flesh into a stubborn future.

Mad coins stuck in our throats. No heads. No tails. Only the choke. These gymnasts called luck landing hard on fractured shadows. Of when. Or if. That time we spent hurlting through the air possessed any glory beyond the impact.

Face up or face down. Would we recognize. Or be changed somehow. By the smell of farts from flatulent gods. Building cities from the shit. Altars drowning in piss.

And still, all these years later.

No one has flushed it.

I think we enjoy it. wading through the excrement. The more foul the mission the better the man.

Hope grows best in a garden of vomit.

Unfortunately, heros must save the villains too.

Sunday 11/23/2008 12:51:00 AM

The quiet is feast enough. For any ghost. We'll die of starvation in this noise. Her tongue was woven from cotton. Her lips had been mulled from wine. There was no one to remember. The past exploding into bruises on her thighs. She said she was alone, but it was only a frail wish.

She was watching through a microscope often dismissed as bitterness. She was laughing as the machine came to life. It didn't go anywhere. It only left behind. All that noise. That makes us alive.

I'm a villain she said. The coward is my victim. Weak men drawn to the sound of dying. Because they mistake it for life. I lie to them. Pretend that we'll find anywhere else. Insinuating that this faulty time machine can take us anywhere we haven't already been.

That's the conundrum. We crawl into these empty skins. As if the meat inside them has somewhere else to go.

Saturday 11/22/2008 12:15:00 AM

The stone on her heel laughed as she walked. Cutting through her shoes. In echoes of when. The ground still shook with her steps. Dead hurricanes named after friends. Trying on every shadow. To find the one that fits.

Waiting for the cancer was more than task enough. Everything has become tiresome. The eager in the twitch as the condom broke open. To release all those diseases she was certain weren't nearly as evil as they were justice.

The atom on its topic. Negotiating the bomb. Science. Religion. Love. Every discipline eventually evolves to destroy us. Maybe they're trying to tell us something.

Her eyes were clenched into a fist. As she warned him that the gods were growing bored. What's an alcoholic except a person looking in on a window to heaven. Too weak to break the glass.

What is hope other than the tepid embrace of another's flesh. The crisp pallor as we turn up the lights afterward. We sought hard, but didn't find anyone. Empty spider webs with their prey still stuck in the silk. Dead predators.

The swan assumes her wings are transport enough. To take her away from all the places she has been. The water dismisses her in tiny ripples. The stones we throw not nearly big enough.

Every yes thereafter framed in the wisdom of no.

Friday 11/21/2008 01:08:00 AM

It got old fast. Bureaucracies in orphaned underwear. Until I realized I should stop counting. Let the ratios take their oath. It's just a path. A bridge made of men. Over shallow waters. Equality is inherent to all beings of want. Pigs. With bacon in their bellies teasing the butcher. Pork on a turning spit.

He said he couldn't remember, but I was certain that he did. The locks on her waist coming undone. Thousands of tiny prisons in her crotch erupting with freedom. The gods on her heels compacting the mud where she had walked. Drawing a map for the the Devil to pursue her. Liberating the atheism.

The man in his orbital pants. Evolving. Before science could stop him. Tangential bastards. On the cusp of their mother's womb. Trying quite hard to crawl back inside her.

Failed by the abortion. The salt takes its drive. The pad corrupted. The portion lost. The devious pen. Too many numbers. Long division of moments too short. As if we are anything the world might remember.

Take the math. In discordant agendas. We still are the sum. Of everyone around us. Turn the circle. Sacrifice the center to find the edges. Foul the flesh with algebra. Unknown variables and passing constants. Know that the ratio is close, but not quite golden.

Draw the maps across open wrists. The suicide is contrite, but the reason remains relevant.

In a world where everyone wants to know how much further.

All I want is to know how close we are.

Tuesday 11/18/2008 01:14:00 AM

The world returns. In desperate winces. Cover our hearts in skin. Play us. Like drums. The alien looks on from his mediocre temple. The world deprives us of ourselves. Bit of chewing gum. The sugar slowly excreted. Until only the dense hull is left.

Still. It keeps chewing on us.

He cried he wanted friends. I was insulted. That he should suspect I was still so naive. He bemoaned his loneliness. An empty grave searching for a corpse. Throwing stones on the hopscotch board. Pretending it mattered where they would land.

Anyone. Or any square. Self enough. For the man without a mirror. For the wolf without a child to eat.

The world weakens and I plan my escape. While it struggles for breath. Prosaic warnings fail the determined. I want to know. How much they suffer.

I want to wake the doll. Rip the lipstick from her grin. Blame her for everything. As all men do. I want the minutes to wait. Listen. When I try to explain.

How close I once was.

And there. There is the drug. The obvious math.

Monday 11/17/2008 02:08:00 AM

The dog wasn't barking loud enough. Tail in a knot. Just a little bit of time machine to get us back. To where we started.

Then. If. Never. More.

Sad people. Arguing with capricious raindrops. Screaming in the thunder. Naked next to the lightning. Bad Cinderella poisoning her prince's kiss. Just one more dial. Another chance. To prove to myself I was a lie.

I slept so long, but never had the dream. The ladder at her window. The fire in her bed. As she pressed the button to send them back. No Einstein. No math. Just empty hands. And squeaking stairs.

To calculate.

The rip in her dress.

All the things that are small enough to change us.

Sunday 11/16/2008 01:26:00 AM

The world in gauze. Beautiful wounds to dress. The film a microscope. To find the smallest holes. In any man.

I see the moon. She said. And it sees me too. Like whiskers on a cat. It feels. For a way to escape the evils of curiosity. I hear the dog barking. Discontent. That it has lost the scent. Of all the flowers we dug up. Before this barter began.

He stares. She listens. It's over. Her pants are gone. In wild fireworks. Her thighs erupt. Wanting what is not there. The magic of failed men not escaping her stare. She draws the pictures. In thick pencils rarely sharpened.

You're alone now she presses. But I couldn't change that. Nor all the suicides I've seduced.

I'm alone now. He acquiesces. A bear. With the Goldilocks asleep in my bed. I can only assume. She wants to be eaten.

11/16/2008 12:56:00 AM

The ink in tundras. Tops of mountains. Falling down. Infants crawling into orphaned skins. Fat bellies pounded with empty fists. The truth is this world suffocates us. In tiny coughs. Until the disease is all that is left.

I can't kill. Though sometimes it would seem the answer. To dirty questions. All my lovers were afraid to ask. I can't scream. Blame the ritual of touch for what has never been. It wasn't taken. That's the sad part.

It never was. So whom do I blame?

I found the tunnel. It was just as dark as I had always imagined. I found the tunnel. The fat dick trying to push its way into the small hole. And I thought it must've been so afraid. To see.

What was on the other side of nothing.

Men hate women. Women hate themselves. Nothing to love. Other than that pin prick of light that slithers through her legs. As she tries on the dirty dress. The math overlooked.

Reason enough she whispered. As the drawstring on her pajamas began to count backward again.

Saturday 11/15/2008 04:08:00 AM

It's never sunny anymore. The dirt is there. Only I can't see it. It stays. I get used to it. Turbines of skin. Choking on touch.

The world is ice cubes. Made of when. The rain used to stop. And all those people actually believed that they mattered to someone.

Dust. Everywhere.

Time trembling in his crotch. Some awful sabotage of nature. That any woman will do.

Talking to the penguin. Useless wings are a comfort. Precious black holes save me from an infinite universe. The dime on its hind legs. One more wish. Before the past catches us. Wearing the walls like a prom dress. A crown of semen. A sash made of placenta.

Dancing. To the loud music of forever. Dead children. Drawing the sky with missing fingers. Unprepared artists. Spoiled by too many colors.

Wherever I've been I must've always been there. No going back. Only remembering what isn't. Thwarted by stubborn skin. The world builds to change. In piles of dead men.

The Aristotle in his pants faltering. As the world proved flat.

And I found myself fresh out of spheres.

Friday 11/14/2008 01:12:00 AM

3.0

Two weeks was all I had to determine where I was. Plain brown bag or colorful cellophane wrapper. Two weeks and then everything would be shopping malls again. Shelves and shelves of nothing expensive enough to want.

3.25

These paper eyelids let everything in. Every backward word is there. For me to misinterpret. The rain is mute. The sidewalk is deaf. Any time I go somewhere.

This broken zipper still has teeth to chew.

3.5

When I go out there it's always Sunday. Prozac prayers wet gods' lips. Pocket change bites their tits.

3.75

Pretty girls never know they are. The ugly ones always win the pageants. Truth is a negotiation.

4.0

But only if. You have something with which to bargain.

Wednesday 11/12/2008 01:18:00 AM

The charm box was open. Surgery on the knowledge. Touch is an organ. Taste is a privilege. Hate is the difference. We think we remember. After the future has made us its diarrhea. The path. In frantic abortions. Tomorrow finally spits out the fetus. Not alive, but still breathing.

Where is dead? Except in the want for something unattainable.

Where is life? Except in the stubbornness to overcome. Heavy bedpans. No one empties. Restless digestion. Painting sheets. As time slithers gracelessly through a maze of organs the brain calls touch. The bones call weakness.

Men are simple. They want sex. And love. Maybe some children. I could make any man happy had I the notion.

Women want a reason. Or an excuse at least. For all the holes. How the things we use to fill them turn on us. The clown. In faded blue jeans. With his makeup in his quivering fist. Laying the color onto my eyelids.

As if I could ever blink again.

The future in dirty overalls. Unhooking the buckles. I was near enough to see the monster, but too far away to blame it.

The future in sour apples. The first bite juicy enough.

I filed him under yesterday.

Tuesday 11/11/2008 02:09:00 AM

The tortoise on its precipice. Thinking down. Imaginary steps. Adding intent to the free fall. As every compulsion is wont to do.

We were discussing politics. Quietly removing the weight of the last eight years. The lonely man with a dead battery in his clock. Sure that the world had stopped. We agreed on so many things. Except how small the world is. When you're not inside it anymore.

We told the moon we were waiting on an actual star. Until it got dark. And we were willing to accept anything.

We had change dancing in our pockets. And dollar bills silently sleeping in our wallets. They'll tell you it's quiet, but they're wrong.

They don't know how big the elephant's shit is. They don't know the burden of the tortoise. Nor the ache in the lion's jaw.

The pillow made of diamonds cutting off his lips.

Monday 11/10/2008 02:12:00 AM

He was sad. The atom at the end of its cycle. The stab relenting the numbers. Winter barely begun. He was cold already. In busy pajamas nervous with the structure. Of an eager world.

Not looking she pointed at the target in his pants. Blind she said. Always seemed appropriate. Given her circumstances. I am small. I know this. It's why I listen so big.

A little bit of neon to illuminate the inert. Butchers like fractions. Determine the meaning of dirt. Bloated treasure maps in dead equations. Steal the lamb from the lion.

It's never what I thought it would be. Stuttering skin coughing out words. In broken syllables. Pretending someone is listening.

The people are the world. The world is not people. We hold that lantern high. Flaunting our parachutes.

Imagining we can gauge.

How far away the ground is.

Sunday 11/09/2008 02:12:00 AM

Patriots in stretchy pants tell us what color the world is. I'd already be asleep if it weren't for liars. Bland claws in the stroke of blood. Tames lions through fiery hoops. A circus of men. Barely avoiding the elephant's giant dung.

I could do a trick or two. This plus that is equal to then. Turn the knob. Relive the kill. That took all these years to prove. Wait in line at the store. Turn the puppet in on itself. Rent the tuxedo for the tepid innuendo. Explain it all with a silence that lasts too long for anyone to dispute.

The condom on her lips. Moist with a feral tension. That the wild is close. But memory still pushes it away.

The solution. In chapped lips. Applies the medicine. To calm the cancer. That makes yesterday a viable excuse.

Saturday 11/08/2008 02:25:00 AM

The tabloid. Her skin. Without a cover. The journalism. Of eager hearts. There is no winner. Just the two evils. Lesser not an option.

I tried to warn him. The world was forgetting. Brilliant men. It seemed insincere. Since I didn't really believe he was one of them. But he heard me still the same. The aardvark in its burrow. The ant in its colony. As if bruises were enough. To recall. The fervor of their grip.

Dead men in their pale fountain. The pennies scrape the bottom. For unfulfilled wishes. The world wants to save itself. No one else in particular.

The wolf imitates grandma.

How are we to know the difference.

Between assassins and saviors. When no one will teach us?

11/08/2008 01:20:00 AM

I'd just gotten an oil change for my yaris. They always try to tell me to go away. 'The first oil change for this car isn't for 5,000 miles.'

This isn't the first oil change i say. Laughing.

If I go back and count, it's the fifth. The lazy and the anti-social are truly friends of the environment.

They checked the tire pressure and topped off the various fluids. Route 88 was pretty quiet. We were heading for target. To determine the median price of coffee. It's up there with gasoline. And illegally harvested human organs.

Something went wrong. Some one tried to make a left at the intersection of Duquesne and Route 70 while someone else wanted to go straight. Traffic was Republican all the way back on Chambersbridge. Trickle down. Lots of honking. No one getting any place.

I turned off into the shopping center. Thinking I could avoid the backup. Same thing. All locals this time of year. We all had the same plan. We were all shocked when it was just as congested to reach the alternate exit.

I gave up and parked. Headed for the Kohl's. No coffee there, but at least it wasn't idling. I hate that incessant switching from brake to accelerator. Just let me go. Or keep me in place. Just come out and admit it. Am I going anywhere?

They had us all lined up at the Kohl's. They added extra checkers. The economy would see a windfall for some one's traffic accident. The whole shopping center was Bedlam. Shop or sit in your car. They had drug out the bank style customer line enhancers. They had a gestapo lady instructing us on when to move to the next available register.

All in all I was fine with it. No one cut in line. Everything moved rather quickly. Say what you will about communism, but it has its finer points. Especially when there's chaos not too far away.

I know communism only works in theory and not in practice. You'd just never know it standing in that line.

A couple of five dollar hand towels later the roads were clear, but I didn't feel much like going anywhere.


** creds to RukSak for making me consider the mundane as viable material for the sublime. **

Friday 11/07/2008 01:22:00 AM

Cold cream. On wilting eyelids. No colors left to convince. Dirty limbs. To dance this late. Forking tongues. Drawing pictures in the darkness. The novelty of skin. Proving irrelevant. As the Earth stumbles toward the sun. In long essay questions.

Young women. On withering shins. The world hates us she wailed. As she removed her eyelids. Sight. Some tattered demon. Too good for hell. Too cruel for heaven. Pulls me into this journey.

I don't want to be saved.

Leave me. To suffer. This tireless inferno. We call progress.

Sell me men. Remotely detonated bombs. Time in the hypotenuse. Right angles multiply. And square. Easy enough to determine the distance. And the angle at which they intersect.

There are people in empty houses. There is no one in crowded streets. The darkness tells us so. Zero times zero. Aristotle in his underwear. Deducing his pants.

The world at my throat. Six billion Galileo's all insisting the sun is closer than it appears. You're only cold because your math is wrong.

The desert. In long strands. The hair falling from her head. The ocean bald. In thorough repetition. In cold contracts. With vacant houses. All the lights still on inside them.

I know what you want. Everything. I know what you have. Nothing. I know where we failed. And how.

Each other. In the calculations.

Tuesday 11/04/2008 02:31:00 AM

Wake up the wolf the piglet squealed. There's no one to eat us.

That is what we want. Isn't it.

That is why I built my house from straw.

To see how easily they could knock it down. How quickly I could build it again.

Some people. They think. The world is that obvious. Some people. They think. Life comes in complete sentences. Devoid of blinding metaphors. Or that they understand the sciences they cannot duplicate. Some people. They tell their children the world is theirs. The rest of us make it happen.

Polish the fangs. Clean the claws. The blood must be precise. The witch will die. As she always does. Inside her own oven. The boy will cry. Everyone will come. Because it might be true this time.

It's the perfect fairy tale she insisted. Take the poor man's axe to the belly of the wolf. Out pops a child. The curtain finally closes on that broken wizard. We courted history and it finally agreed.

There's no place like change. Our reluctant home.

Close the window. Try not to breathe. Maintain the illusion that people can change.

It's almost real. All these candy hearts we call democracy.

11/04/2008 12:35:00 AM

How come... and I'm not asking this rhetorically. How come it's considered patriotic and noble to give your life for your fellow americans? As in military service and war. But for the wealthy to give a little extra tax money to help the less fortunate is evil and unamerican?

Which is easier. Fight and possibly die for your country or pay a few hundred more per year? Which breaks less hearts. Leaves less children fatherless. Our country is currently at war. Young men are dying, but what does the campaign and the public discuss? Those poor, downtrodden folks making 250 thousand and more per year. Aw, they don't want to pay more taxes. The oil changes on those beamers can be pricey. Isn't life so unfair?

Okay. It is rhetorical. I'll tell you why. Cause mostly poor folks serve in the military. It's okay for the poor to sacrifice for their country. Hell, that's why we keep them around.

Obama's tax increase would only apply to the 'haves and the have mores'.

They don't serve their country. Their country serves them.

Are the have not that muches ever going to stand up and change that? Cause, hello! We are the majority. Time to start acting like it.

Monday 11/03/2008 02:10:00 AM

Hate is solution enough.

The ballerina with her toes sewn to her eyelids. Dances still the same. Legs in the air. Eyes blinking too fast. To see.

Everyone laughing.

Alone comes in stitches. Eager needles slowly pushing through drifting skin. Healing nothing. Only keeping the blood contained. Alone listens. Carefully. An ambivalent camera recording the rampant disease. I try to blame it, but it has proof that it's only me.

The conversations are nothing. Distractions temper the clay. For soft hands. To dig in. Give it shape. Find the face in the nothing.

Listen.

As if I can still hear. Anything they're saying.

Scraping away the cold from the glass. Brief. Blind luxuries called men.

Pretending to see.

How cold it is.

Sunday 11/02/2008 03:33:00 AM

Little girls with their eyes closed. Dresses on their chins. Greeting the tornado with their lips. Nothing to blame. Futures on burning houses. Searching for the fire escape. Little girls with their feet sewn together. Stumbling. Carefully toward Bethlehem. Falling down.

On Satan's porch. With angels in empty hands.

Near enough. She was certain. Arguing with the physics. Of the dying having a future. Years. To cover these corpses. In the dirt displaced by so many dead men.

Culling the trenches from shreds of skin. She left behind in her hurry to forget him.

The mania of the prude. To quench her temptations. Swollen thighs crossing a broken bridge. The machine cold as it idles on standby. Her thumb fierce with a future she's only glimpsed.

She knows. Or so she says. Why tomorrow forgets us.

She knows because it's told her.

It can't wait.

11/02/2008 02:45:00 AM

The world stops somewhere. I can't see it. But I know it's there. Transparent monsters foul the math. Of going home. We see through. What it is we seek. Careless integers pretend the skin. As if. I could count that high.

I woke up the paint still wet on my dream. Smeared it everywhere. No one thought it was art.

Forever isn't as long as you think it is.

I closed my eyes. Certain I'd never fall sleep. That the world has no use for what I'd been counting. Insect bites under her clothes. Scouting the hidden itches.

I'm not the darkness. She warned him. Life. That failure is your own. I'm not the moon. She said. I won't illuminate anything. I'm not the dawn. You'll wake up. Wanting to find me there, but I'll be gone.

The wisdom of time travel is that it remembers us. Though we have no idea who it was.

Forever isn't as long as you think it is.

She says it's over because he knows it to be true. She says it's over because anything else is unacceptable.

The triangle breaks. Into so many more. There's a future she imagines. That happens the same way.

Forever isn't as long as you think it is.

It just has so many parts.

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