Thursday 9/30/2010 12:49:00 AM

the colors parade. in that arrogant way that they do. when my skin is pliant and eager to be removed. it's just the daylight. the way it abruptly transistions into darkness. that has be confused. i unfold those attic stairs. but there's nothing up there that i haven't already lost.

there are so many boxes. so many possbly dead cats inside of them. there is the chemistry. the reaction. of base to acid. the way that her clothes come off when she's lonely. the distance. between the raindrops. so vast.

she encourages the mimes. pieces of gaulfalt positioning thier experiments. this absurd transition. from young to old. begs the question. when we knew. how i could've ever been so naive.

the silence always trading against the sequence of condition. the oratory of fading ghost. applause enough.

Sunday 9/26/2010 01:59:00 AM

this sanguine garden must have other colors to give. the chatter of her fears plays in a loud orchestra. the trumpets lack breath. the strings are all broken. the science of skin finishes the stories she's barely begun.

inertia keeps her moving. makes her still.

she chases the chaos. little demons in their pointed black boots. swooning high on impossible mountains. the echos of their descent like thick illustrations. heavy pencils digging into the thin papers in her head. she follows the the dichotomy of the numbers. arrogant with inertia.

the physics of movement erupting. each atom aware of itself. and the millions surrounding it. these arrogant molecules of humanity. demanding reason. where there can be none.

it's only now. that's all it's ever been. an open window. the rain teeming in. the threat of circumstance. always on the verge of making us listen.

inertia. the planets in their orbits. the frenzy of if. the delirium of how. all this progress is slowing me down.

Saturday 9/25/2010 12:23:00 AM

she writes in yellow. black fingernails scrape through the honey. the rain chases the sun. the cold chases the heat. in a futile campaign to prove this flesh is still connected.

the orange comes in punches of touch. broken drums still beating with the echos of when. i could still name my demons. see their faces and know which ones to trust. their glass eyes cracked and glowing. with missing suns. and the simple paradise of forgetting.

every fairy tale has its ogres. mine are no different. each Camelot pretends the grail exists. but our breadcrumbs prove different. in the woods. Servants to an exit we can't see. pulling on a sword i can never hope to release.

the red in her dreams is quiet. leg warmers and fallen stockings. as she crawls across the bridge. certain it will open as she approaches the center. knowing it will never let her cross it.

the colors. in cold prophets. the parity of choices. as she touches the edge. the color of her skin. as she approaches the devil. with her empty basket. certain he is desperate enough to accept.

Friday 9/24/2010 12:51:00 AM

the monsters aren't a threat. it's i who worries them. the seasons don't change. i just forget how cold it was. how hot it is. she writes in ink. almost permanent. she measures in poisons. the choices she never made.

the engine hums inside her wormhole. eager for the rush of abandon. it's easy to go there. alone again. in lengthy confessions of wasting flesh. it's many worlds. and none. everywhere is no place. she pauses on the nail. her hammer frozen in her fist. a victim and a villain. a world she builds and then demolishes with each breath.

simple things. like love. are easy to understand. they take away everything you want. and ask that to wait for them to come back.

they scribble on the maps. and expect you to find. places you've never been. they shit in your bed and expect you to sleep in it.

All my monsters are weak. And it's sad. That they don't seem so ugly to me anymore.

9/24/2010 12:22:00 AM

she wore her chalk in outlines. absent autumns. faces lacking eyes. no leaves. just naked trees. leaning toward the ground. the dark always runs faster. Than the fastest i can. it always catches up. and i try to run. it overtakes me. and i am glad it has. i can lose. and be done with it.

all of her stories are suicides. all of her heroes are lamed. she says it's not her fault. that the world is impatient. comes too quick. she can't keep up.

she plucks the strings on the neck of the moonlight. an orchestra of could have beens. await her lyrics. nothing. she is empty.

the basket falls to the wolf. the picnic goes to the pig. the fairy tale ends in a flurry of why.

she insists that she knows me, but i can't see how.

Tuesday 9/21/2010 02:39:00 AM

quiet cautions spoil the luxury of daunted silence. the broken window. its glass reaches the floors eventually. still i walk on. captivated by the blood.

the plague looms. long fingers reach for absent threads. still it unravels. though i cannot reach to tug on the ends.

the end appears. not as clear as we would think to see it. lingering. for years. in a morbid drizzle. no storms to shock us into action. no thunder to wake us from this slumber.

the quiet. a most dangerous weapon. a child awoken to a man in her bed. fights briefly. then quickly accepts. the violation.

Sunday 9/19/2010 01:17:00 AM

questions solve for when. though time is no longer hers to capture. the numbers strain against the burden of flesh. the man positioned over the woman. empty anvils for the hammer to hit. the division gives in to her obstinance. then feigns to not have occurred. tomorrow waits. for her to approve. as the numbers turn. in a kaleidoscope. years learning to see in the darkness. now that there is light. I am blinded.

i would let them. forge their mirrors from my discarded dresses. i would encourage them. to abuse the dolls. toils this plastic skin. in cracking hours. i would imagine the world in broad cloths and bitten apples. no sin. just perspective. and the tree it feel from.

I'd listen. but could rarely hear. the alarm sounding. as everyone fled. the subtle destruction. i always thought was progress. I'd talk. to myself. as if someone could hear. what I'd said.

Still counting. Too loyal to the numbers. that had offered me nothing. Still counting. The witches in the oven. the places in the woods. where the monsters find us no matter where we hide.

Saturday 9/18/2010 12:46:00 AM

the shadows near to touch her. in her perpetual state of sublime. her worn skirt barely concealing the tremble of her thighs. the window remains open. out there distant, but loud.

she tries on the glass. broken shards decorate her toes. wondering how others see through it. but all she can see is behind. she picks of the pieces of glass. that are there. since she lost her grip. on all those heavy containers with nothing much inside of them.

hastily she sweeps them up. another window she can't ever close again. another piece of heaven's puzzle to add to the growing pile.

Friday 9/17/2010 12:51:00 AM

try the shovel. thick earth still upon it. her pillow betrays. the delicate of her words. the effort in her silence.

all her fairy tales are told. all her villains obvious. the stone on her clock. stops the hands from moving. the boulder in her fist. is the only part of her that knows the difference. between now and if.

the hill slopes to meet her. the calm resistance easily seen through. the pissing dogs always comes back. to find their urine. i can't smell it anymore. but the earth seldom forgets. the lies we commit to it.

she tries on her face. the mirror more than willing. to indulge her mania. she shouts at the wolf. as it climbs into her grandmother's bed. I am ready to be eaten.

Wednesday 9/15/2010 01:25:00 AM

waits the volcano. suffers the storm. under the density of her breath. all broken clocks and old windows. that succumb to the wind. and don't know. when we are. if we've been here before. or if we'll ever be back again.

the mark of the devil is patience. the mark of god is apathy. she climbs the stool. to reach the empty cupboard. where the meaning once resided. Before the pills were all yellow. Prior to the end of the world. She'd scrape her chalk on the pavement. And find art in the missing footsteps.

Punctured drums still being beaten. Soft sticks and endless rhythms. Raise the doll nearer to god. Torn dresses. And melted faces. Leave them doubting the distance. Between. angels and demons.

the parched volcano drinks of the destruction. big gulps swallow hard. chewing on the rocks. little girls climb to reach this precipice.

a small time machine carved into her chest. Always counting backward. Never finding where it begins.

Tuesday 9/14/2010 01:28:00 AM

starve the oven. gorge the cold. all her munitions lay beneath the skin. all her grendades are suspender in time. Forcing the the polarity. As she is often wont to do. Eager for the shock.

There's too much. taste in this starvation. too much drunk in this sobriety. the shifting gears of virulent machines. tell time in missing skin. and sore than won't heal.

she frets the meat. and the grains. her starvation. a choice. Teasing the years in a circus of faces. Big hair and red noses. Patting the darkness. For any sense of occasion.

the elevators betweeen floors. All the escapes blocked. By the dead.

Sunday 9/12/2010 12:41:00 AM

the partial eye in her head. hides its blindness with careful and astute accusations. those breadcrumbs are still there. after years in the woods. not knowing. the end from the beginning. as weak as she is, they are no different. as cold as it gets. she knows the burning is only a breath away.

drowning in orange. reveling in red. the colors know. but don't tell. the fairy tales concealed under her weighted eyelids. in a dream she tames a dinosaur. in her bed she finds the source of god.

buzzing flies and caught fish. rotting on a this pile of moments the mind collects. a dose of manure. a flicker of narcotics. to solve this ancient puzzle.

we are the witches. hungry for skin. we are the oven. too hot to live. we are the children our parents abandoned in the forest. we are the woodsmen who find those orphans with our axes. and know not what to do with them.

escaping the fire only to drown slowly in the ocean.

Saturday 9/11/2010 12:14:00 AM

The glass cracks against her breath. Still in place. To see through. A fractured pantomime promises the world out there. in broken faces and severed limbs. The images skate around the surface of her eyes with disjointed contrition. black holes are where she knows the light is. all that was taken away. or lost. captured. contained. waiting. patiently still. for her to breach the mouth of that chasm.

she builds the puzzle with each passing hour. an elaborate conundrum. of flesh and words. the black hole at the back of her throat. the solution in the fragile glass. As it burrows well beneath her skin. Some colors she once saw. a sip. a slither. a snake. to poison her anew. and at last the static dissolves.

she can hear again. the nothing inside it. the everything that surrounds. the tick of the flame as it begins to die out. the puzzle locking into place. all around those empty boxes.

Peering into the black. wondering what could be in such an infinite hole. seeing the light trapped in there. and all the cracked glass desperate to let it escape.

Thursday 9/09/2010 12:37:00 AM

Paper epiphanies Wait. For the ink to dry. The colors turn over. In a rigor of skin. This flesh. A weak conveyor belt. Struggling to bring the world to us.

The holes have their own words. Places. Where the ladder isn't broken. And the knife is sharp. Small concessions. Numbers. Like dominoes. Constantly fall. I'm still awake. Though the dream continues. The scarecrow does its job. Frightening us. Away from. The places we belong.

The fairy tale accuses. The spiteful moral of the story overcomes. What little desire I have left. To deliver this picnic basket to that old woman.

One wolf. Maybe more. As the woods feign to part. The absolute resenting her time machine. An equation. Culled from the weak. A map drawn in the dark.

Finding much better what so many lights could not.

Laughing. Over comes in an instant. After praises the shovel. Every grave is a victory.

Close enough to the rain. To see. That I'm still dry. After the storm.

Monday 9/06/2010 01:48:00 AM

i took the pill. yellow oblong of purulent sunshine. i constructed my ladder. shoe laces and empty boxes. that's it. and why. i found the basement. rigorous with rusty nails to extract from my feet. culling the cardboard flowers that have stunted my garden. these are the walls. The thin fabric between birth and grave. urging the shadows to cover their faces. as i struggle to remember how i once drew them.

with these broken pencils. and the soiled erasers. that always leave remnants of my mistakes.

fidgeting with the cork on the champagne. the eruption a mere artifact. of a hollow glass. a cork in the volcano. eager to swallow us. the riots in his skin. the envelope of her lips. searching. for a place to send away for what has always been missing.

she checks the empty shelves. fighting with the shaodws that insist. there is nothing left.

Sunday 9/05/2010 01:17:00 AM

The numbers infiltrate. Her time line crumbles. Chasing the math. In grim apocalypses. it always ends. Only to begin again. And though I try to remember, it's all gone. Such are the whims of sightless monsters and the dark cages in which we keep them.

It's over. By the scrape of her dress against her scabby knees. It's done. As sure as the scar forms over the tired openings in her skin. This skin proclaims its tensile dominion over the heresy of touch. Determined bridges. Crumbling under the gentle weight of our footsteps.

Time lines measuring. The breadth of our defiance. As we scavenge for the source of their power. She said years. I think. Maybe more. Determining. She said time didn't matter. Though it was a heavy burden. All feints of gravity on a life that has no mass. Stumbles up missing stairs. Empty rooms. Closed doors. Black holes retain the light. Theirs to keep.

Time lines despairing for us. As we stutter through this darkness. Blind orphans. Pressing buttons. For any reaction.

The sign on the road says I'm almost there. The numbers on the machine are not to be trusted. The darkness weighs nothing. I can pick it up. The wolves are close. I can hear them breathing. Hungry for straw houses.

And a girl in the woods. Still searching time lines. For a light that never was.

Thursday 9/02/2010 01:42:00 AM

The bricks. Coughing underneath her feet. Soft with empty stages. Actors ripe with nothing to say. The bricks. Building their rigid stairs. As up convinces. These clean dresses to adopt those dirty aprons.

Measuring the moments. In strict obsessions. plastic skin focuses on the scrape. In elastic skin. It grows over. Forgets. Everything we've taught it. Heavy drinks on the edge of her lips. Flaunting their so called happy endings.

Working the numbers. A series of patent labors. In the quake of hollow dungeons. The feather in my hand. The wing of the bird a faint echo. The cackle of the sky as it opens up to swallow us. the useless button. I continue to press.

Her pinwheels in the wind. Relentlessly spinning. Her monsters absorbed into the experiments. The base formulas of skin. Evident in the weakness of her arithmetic. The empty box. Between her thighs. The everything inside it. Demanding something more.

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