Wednesday 6/30/2010 01:37:00 AM

Tell me a story. About happily every after. Nervous dolls with their hands sewn to their lips. And static atoms lost among a growing rage. The things unseen more powerful than casual observations. Tell me lies and I will believe them. For a little while. A chaff of comfort in a funneling darkness.

A bridge built suddenly from nothing. Still spans the distance. As the water grazes across my skin. A clown without its nose. A hunter lacking bullets.

The morning coiled like an angry snake. Poisoned and sharp. By the volume of the notion. Ugly. Its jaw unhinged. To swallow whole the remains of hours I'd long ago dissected.

Desperate for a number to indicate. Truth in the map I'd laid. Weak with the squabble of stubborn skin. As I struggled needlessly out of my garments.

Always naked. Always small compared to the smallest of elements. Dangling from the second hand as it navigates the hours to come.

A curtain. A huff of stage. To reinforce her resolve. As she vomits up the dialogue.

Tuesday 6/29/2010 01:09:00 AM

Engaging the quiet stranger. Imagining him a particle of light that she is keeping speed with. Aging slowly as the world around them grows old. The future unfolding in stabs of skin. Slowly separating from the bone.

Particles decaying. A circus of atoms and smaller things. Arranging their thick curtains to obscure the future on the windows between us. Howling dogs and hungry strays. Grunting with purpose through the dark blanket of summer's weight. Nowhere to go. No time to get there.

She writes a letter to her grandmother. Apologizing for having accidentally killed her. She assumes the paradox is self-correcting.

She goes back thinking she has never been to the past. Only to realize she's long been waiting there.

To fulfill the time line she had propagated years from now. A strand of thread through a needle's eye. Convincing the seams in a larger blanket.

A shiver in the cold. A sigh in the heat. Her kiss. A broken crayon. The only evidence of the flesh she's already colored in.

Confessing that she expected she would find herself. She warns the past is not to be changed. There are only particles colliding. Too small to see. And the entropy of a slow future trying to catch up with the urgency of decaying flesh.

Slipping into the bones of a new stranger. She easily dismisses the impending threat of physics. We are free she insists. Even if only to forget.

Monday 6/28/2010 12:22:00 AM

Through the tendrils of heat we see the rains that have yet to arrive. The sun's bony fingers lurching through crowded streets. High heels click hot on the stones of the pavement. Mascara weeps. The winter that beat us to death, now a fond memory. Under the potent microscope of fickle seasons.

On an escalator. In an air-conditioned Eden. Those same tales are told again. Complete with deformed monsters and princes more beauty than substance. My weak art struggles against the physics. Of broken stairs. All the empty rooms between cellar and attic. That leave the world much bigger than I can manage.

The ink on her arms running close to the veins. A vague reminder of the blood behind the bones.

At the back of a quiet train. Inside a seldom noticed station. There remain. Many passengers. Still waiting. For somewhere to go.


Sunday 6/27/2010 12:06:00 AM

The weak stresses of gravity sour under her tongue. Her words to spoil there. Brown bits of fruit and skin. Left for strays and scavengers. Her feast taken. In hollowed out melon rinds. Scorched by flame. Split with blunt sticks. Her thirst quenched by salt water and disease. The arrow turns in all directions. The compass grows fat with places to become. More than thieves.

Less than victims.

Gravity is a thin veil separating gods from men. A clever mesh of deceptions. To perpetrate this futile quest. How long have I waited. For the world to end. How much longer will I wait yet?

The witch in her dressing gown. The wolf in his tuxedo. The empty basket that I carry still what they covet.

The river and the woods. Each listening. For footsteps. Breaking leaves. Travellers among the dead. Liars indebted to their thieves.

Searching. For any indication. That she could fall down. That all things considered. As weak as gravity is, she is weaker.

Friday 6/25/2010 12:12:00 AM

The ladders leaning on the fragile glass. The windows open to the hiss of world. In drops of poison that make us strong. Another foolish attempt to rescue the dead.

Painting with her fingers. Speaking with her breasts. The nervous portrait in her attic growing old at last. Feeble ghosts tempt the darkness. With parables of flesh and blood. All the frivolous atrocities they can't forget. Brown apples in her sweet pie. Spoiled vegetables in her garden.

The humble earth. The distant sun. And more rain that I thought possible. The lingering thirst. The turning screws. A decision ripe with consequence. As if the voice could tell. Or the eyes ever show. The monster that lurk.

A fist. A choice. An atom rogue. Challenges the numbers that guess at the physics of alone.

Thursday 6/24/2010 12:56:00 AM

One shy, perhaps More. As the glass falls from the windows. The echo of her bed as she lays down. The creak of her closet as she puts away the clothes that no longer fit.

Caffeine and cigarettes excite her dilemma as she solves for x. All broken candy canes that leverage the witch into the oven. And filled our bellies with her gingerbread. A contest of sorts. Of dry markers and stale bread. How much can you lose before stealing seems a moral offense?

She acts on the numbers. Both casual and urgent. Pale lambs of arithmetic stutter their way through the verbs. A distant perfume. Sweet berries and discontent. Spoil the canvas she has yet to touch.

The moment flourishes. Bursting open in a studious bloom. Loyal to this math. That has added up to nothing. The properties of skin divining their absolutes. From funerals and misgivings. The echo of flesh resonating. Shaking the brick houses of dirty little pigs.

Infinity has its limits. I witness them each time I pull on her zipper. Her skin as soft as crayons. All the colors fading.

Tuesday 6/22/2010 12:42:00 AM

Calculating when and if. Her arithmetic poor. Her equations flawed. The circumference of her touch deflated. The weight of her fingers twice that of her flesh. As she shed her clothes in favor of more tempting choices. The tiny fire between her lips hissing with the venom of a cobra. The slit in her pussy a tornado. Consuming the whole of the world in its fury.

Her calculator was broken, but she kept track of the numbers in her head. Meek ones on the precipice. Hundreds flaunting their resolve. Tall mountains with only an echo at the top. Feverish volcanoes erupting as diarrhea from the asshole of the earth.

One. Then two. Maybe three. It goes on until my boredom betrays. Heroic capes on villains shoulders. Tiny notches in the bark of time. Endless sticks to throw at these windows. Stones enough to prove the glass is shattered.

Her stare trembles and I know. We've strayed too close.

Monday 6/21/2010 12:41:00 AM

Counting softly. The marrow of the villains. As they feign their fear of the heroes. This caress is a barter that must be repaid. This flesh is a bait. To coax the demons away from heaven.

She wears her autumn in fattened moons and dead leaves. The animals not ready to release her from their bondage. The politicians more interested in her cunt. Than who has violated.

She busies herself collaring the dogs. Strays to build an army with. The witches in her fairy tale all cooked. The candy houses condemned.

Still she coddles the spark. A stalwart contrarian. Determined to prove. The virtue of the deception. For hungry harbors drowning in immigrants. And empty rooms where kings die alone.

The intricate lacing of her bustier a fitting puzzle for those that would find her. Smothered in her dress. A funeral of pussy and tits. With no one to mourn her.

Sunday 6/20/2010 12:11:00 AM

Patience she has learned has few rewards. Other than perspective. Time machines she knows are untrustworthy devices. That have left her stranded more often than not. Stiff gods covered in red lipstick. Hoping someone will call for a whore.

Until then they solicit the weak.

Everything is paid for. Every prayer is a debt to be collected.

Axes through the belly of the wolf. Dead children. And the breadcrumbs they left. For us to find them. Witches. In their candy houses. Tempting the fever of want. Traces of the wart still on her hand. As the monsters retreat.

She used to count, but lost track. The picture still in its frame. The broken glass distorting what she can remember.

Of vacant boxes that would lie there in her dark attic. Waiting on someone to see. How far they've travelled to leave here.

Her deaf walls listening. As she confessed. The world to be an afterthought. The panic of nervous gods. Selling their heavens. To anyone fool enough to make the purchase.

Thursday 6/17/2010 12:53:00 AM

The hammer on the glass tapping. Finding hidden cracks. The window waits. For her vision to catch up. Weak little eyes fussing with the details of a massive puzzle. and the glue still on her fingers from the previous attempt.

She hides in her bubble of blindness. Stroking both wolves and sheep. Daring the world to prove it isn't real. Her empty laboratory. All the cages quiet. All her medicines spent. On the wounded. Vast oceans stilled. Under the antipathy of a dead war. And adrift among the land mines it leaves behind.

Dressed in the questions. The answers well beneath her skin. The darkness like charcoal burning. A seldom map to places ripe with expectations. The cupboards are empty and the ghosts are yet to be fed. She likes when they rattle their chains. It reminds her of the freedom in still being alive.

Frail slave to the tasks of her flesh. She asks for opinions and I give her facts instead. Because getting what you want is the worst kind of torture.

Wednesday 6/16/2010 02:05:00 AM

One thing dead seems appropriate. Several more. Only a consequence. Like cotton candy. And the Way that it is drawn toward the chaos. Vague choices in broken pinwheels and burnt matchsticks.

Ringing phones and no one there to answer them. We assume. Speculating on the parachutes at their backs.

The moment. A bubble burst from between her lips. All its sugar long ago digested.

Only a plaid man on striped contrivance. Of bones and speculum. As he inspects her for traces of the obvious.

Each hour. A torch scorching her fist. As she holds its fire up to the darkness. Pretending to see. The variations in her demons.

The edge of the world. Closer than she thinks.

Monday 6/14/2010 01:32:00 AM

Choice flaunts its dilemmas. My wager weak under the huff of empty bed linens. Useless buttons and all the machines attached to them. Fussing with a reality all too eager to prove. The weight of nothing.

It stains these clean sheets. while it pisses over the precipice. Convinced there is no bottom.

The descent. In severed fictions. Impossible to measure. Negotiating the numbers. The soiled latches that let us inside this beast. The solemn anthems that yet leave us uneaten. Expecting. Visiting the dead. I try on the glass slipper.

Princes and madmen tricky to differentiate. To care.

A kingdom is still a kingdom either way.

Sunday 6/13/2010 12:41:00 AM

How it began is how it must end. For all jesters in the courts of fickle kings. For all atoms drawn together. For all travellers through the myopic stare of flesh. Blindness is not an affliction. Sight bears its sweet fruits. And we indulge what we can. It rots. As we swell with its sugar. It rots. And nothing the same will ever grow. It is the beginning and the end.

Loyal to each catastrophe. And bound by the pink deep in the threads of these muscles. We indulge the circle. As it indulges us. Start. Finish. One in the same. What lies between them our only true possessions.

A hundred eyes on the graves. Where the dead pretend to sleep. Soft puppets that fill my palms with dirt. Scar my fingers with their rigid strings. A threaded grin for the future. As we absolve it to this paradox. The circle insists. As I skulk this stage before my empty audience. Laboring in this moment. Dry river beds and still oceans.

The curtain descended. I wait for applause. For laughter. Or derision. But the future, like the past, is deaf.

The earth still moves. The weather still changes. but this darkness is constant.

Saturday 6/12/2010 01:08:00 AM

Close to the stem she found the flesh of the fruit. Stale under its skin. Ripe between her teeth. Lengthy narratives savaging her bite. As she chews on what might've been. The hours count backward as she tries to forget. The buttons she pressed to get there.

Ambivalent matchsticks. convinced by the flame. That this darkness can be gutted. That this slaughter has bones. to build upon. and skin. which can be missed.

Finding the tunnels. Silent passages between seize and suffering. the callous bulb of time insisting. we have not moved. though i know we are far from where we began this quest.

I can name roads. Virulent with the byzantine hiss of traffic. I can draw maps. Rigid lines contradicting the flow of the earth.

I can revisit. All these places I've always been, But still I am lost.

One scavenger amongst scores of them. With its head deep inside the carrion.

Friday 6/11/2010 12:55:00 AM

I licked the dry cotton candy of her cunt. Charmed by the sugar. Left empty by the scent. She lay there. A thin cactus amongst so much sand. Sipping the sunlight and pretending her thirst had been absolved.

The chipped rim of the glass dared my lips to drink. The thick skulk of the moon demanded my eyes stop seeing. I was already drunk and would only become more so. A venomous snake with its jaws unhinged.

Her thighs seemed a treasure map. Her body a small cache of riches. The thunder wheezed in the distance. The rain had already begun. I found myself in an empty playgrounds still thick with the fragrance of children.

I throw the switch and wait for something to happen. Coasting forward on slim rubber bands. Eventually snapping back. The pale yellow stare of the sun exposing my mania for everything it is. Half poetry. Part hopelessness. A nomad. In a barren world. A badly torn map. Guiding me to places that are no longer there.

Wednesday 6/09/2010 01:18:00 AM

The world wears its tumors well. Ridged and wrinkled lives all bleached clean for our oedipal coloring in. Each pair of hands a minor deity as it smears that ink across the pages it envies.

I sometimes envision time travel as a being. A grey shadow on the peripheral of our vision. Tinkering with our lives as old men often fidget with the junk in their garages. Slithering about our ankles as we walk. Staring from within our mirrors as we preen. That we would be less than nothing to them. A single tick of a second. Expired as quickly as we had dared to exist.

Empty outlines of chalk. Not unlike the ones we use to mark our dead. Painfully devoid of any features that could indicate they had once lived.

When I see these creatures. Their long grey tails courting the hungry wind. I wonder what they see through the eyes absent from their heads. Little ticks of demarcation telling the brief scald of our time. The fleeting stumble which shunts us from birth to death in an instant. A sinewy smoke of cancer through the guise of their infinite perspective.

Perhaps I was an hour. Maybe only a second. I look for their smile, but cannot find it. I listen for their snide laughter, but am greeted only by silence.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that there have always been these monsters. It's just only recently that I've begun to look for them.

Tuesday 6/08/2010 01:56:00 AM

Clusters of chagrin push the hours in another direction. The world comes into view in the mechanical chokes of a sputtering garage door. Every morning she watches. As the vehicle backs away. Every evening she wonders at its return. The fresh soil in its treads smelling of clowns caught without their faces.

Just numbers she warned. Her face contorted by the finality of the prospect. Hours peddling their petty cancers. To damsels in distress. Small portals in the skin. Scalping tickets to this dread concert. Of desperation and sugar.

The sweet intrusion of logic a faint and weakening force. As she brandishes her future like a sword.

The future patient in lazy snowflakes and melting icicles. An empty rocking chair the only evidence of her failing resolve. Counting down to zero in obvious increments.

Monday 6/07/2010 01:23:00 AM

Long dreams. Marvelously interrupted by an eager sun. The cold skin in her hands. The warm blood on her lips. As she pretended to know what dying was.

Consumption has many lessons to provide. But death is not amongst them.

In nervous gowns she seduced the moon. A cripple strutting on phantom limbs. In a series of apologies she took them prisoner. A passive aggressive coup only a woman could pull off.

Her candy tits melting too soon. Sugar and sun betraying our lust. Unwanted children left in the woods. To be eaten by either witches or the wolves.

Endless dreams. waking me up and putting me back into that stupor of random touch. Where real is always a profound defeat. Where ships sail on the whims of fickle winds. And arrogant gods kneel before the remnants of our foolish courage.

I waited for the seasons. Like a barren woman anticipates the staunch in her monthly blood. A useless burden evolution has overlooked. I waited for the change in the weather, but still more rain.

Everywhere mud. To ask us questions and scowl at the answers we would mindlessly submit.

Long dreams laced with nightmares. Lost in the baggy confines of this skin. Pale tuxedos wearing us at will. Barking dogs on the perimeter. Deaf to the sound of their rage. A ladder on the ground. As her window looms overhead.

She spoils her mimes with voices they'll never use. Confident that speech is useless. Now that her audience is deaf.

She tries on the stern agenda of her ancestors and is devatsated when it does not fit.

Assembling the puzzle in bits of men. She imagined there must be bigger pieces.

Sunday 6/06/2010 12:27:00 AM

Two days in the sun without any legs. Chewing her way through the desert to put a drop of water on her tongue. She had lips like demons. And fingers like butterflies. The world shook each time she tried to grab it.

She would waste her time reasoning with hurricanes. Fickle wind and spiteful rain conspiring to teach us what loss is. She would tilt her head and ask me what was missing. Nothing I would say. There's just too much. This fever proliferating. As I revel in the stray infections that would otherwise destroy us.

Parsing the hours. In skipping stones and the spray of water as it breaks free from that dread surface tension. The physics of darkness determined as ever to justify the consequences of gravity.

The ground is too far. The ground is too close. I don't have to fall. I've always been at the bottom. The hours stretch. Taut like rubber bands. I offer them the stones I've collected. And listen.

For the sound of breaking glass.

The desert remains barren. Gravity is still weak. And monsters are still real. Those things never change. But we do.

Friday 6/04/2010 01:47:00 AM

The world in matchsticks. Paper with fire at both ends. Bartering all of its trampolines. For just one step. Silent from her perch above. All her hollow costumes down there, not withstanding.

Hidden inside the storm. She opens the window and prepares for the force of the wind. As together they imagine the future in cracking glass and sobs of skin.

Working the tension. Massaging that narrow opening. As the vessel is extracted from its contents. Just one lever. One button. On a lonely machine. In an empty room. Where no one goes. The arbiters of friction busy themselves teasing the angry ghosts.

These walls not quite real enough.

The numbers on the dial confessing. Minor sins too small to construct such an elaborate hell as this.

Pondering the catapult. Dwarfed under the shadow of this enormous trebuchet of skin. Having started a war I cannot finish. Having travelled so far just to get find the beginning.

The matador flaunts his red cloak. But the bull is already dead.

Thursday 6/03/2010 01:14:00 AM

Tonight we play a different game. The pebble in her shoe persisting. The whores in her pocket conceding to the notion. That broken is a form of evolution.

She lies and tells him that it feels good. Two Firemen on ladders. Convincing the inferno to sleep. Maps full of pinholes. Promising me I'll get there eventually.

Working the numbers in a deep massage. Fussing wit the buttons. She struggled with her time machine until everything was dead again. Wondering if life was enough.

The piquant anomalies of eager skin. Turn this fallow soil into a garden again.

Wednesday 6/02/2010 01:54:00 AM

Measuring the clouds in rips of construction paper. She has her paste at the ready. Her scissors not withstanding. As the future expires in broiling apathies. She wipes her hands on her foul apron. And begins to assemble the collage.

Corpses and molars collide. In a kaleidoscope. I can close my eyes and see the future in fading colors. As if it is all one thread. And someone is running away with it. I give in and try on these stubborn vessels. Obvious time machines throwing their quills. And I am stuck.

Grateful to have discovered a new poison.

Tuesday 6/01/2010 12:47:00 AM

One day we'll ask each other. What it is we want. And we'll both say nothing.

I write in blood about the men I've conquered. And laugh at how they think they've won.

Tense little arteries in a fortress of flesh. Hungry leeches exploiting intimate moments.

As I stood. Waiting for the stair to stop swaying. I knew the moon was bound to get in the way. Suckling clouds. On the teats of a dying sun. The seasons come in punches. But I'm not a fighter at all.

The train stalls at the station. The passengers all wait patiently. Parodies and skulls are exchanged. This sour journey. Of bones. Browsing the skeleton. For predictable puzzles.

Dry fountains reveal their wealth. The fallow pieces. Of broken crowns.

It's not that I would try to save them. It's just that need to be.

When I was young. I assumed the world to be pliant. Dismissible to my ideals. Maybe it was. Had the mountains not gotten in my way.

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