Wednesday 12/23/2009 01:26:00 AM

Thieves and missionaries swarm the flesh. Saving everything and nothing. White questions on whiter pages. The door closed. And she was different. A statue molded by the wind. Melancholy with missing cures and abundant diseases.

The cupboards empty. The porch all dark. All those strangers small enough to pick up. Put back into their boxes.

Gesturing blithely to the fox. Obvious numbers spoil the clock. Her crotch counting. Eager rockets determined to launch.

It's only cold when I see the sun. The floor like glass. Cracking as I walk. Each fracture defining my path. It's ugly because I say it is. Lazy storms on the horizon. Charm the fictions of sour hearts.

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