Sunday 11/13/2011 12:23:00 AM

i could crawl. over their graves. tiny tempests raging in the microcosm of when. the satire was more than this thin blanket of flesh. across the the voids. dragging eternity behind me. a little mud on my palms. a few scrapes on my knees. otherwise unchanged.

a teapot left to boil on the stove. screeching for years. in a vacant kitchen.

i could dig. picking at the edges with a broken spoon. drawing worlds in fading markers. confessions. stubborn wormholes. Let the strays in. To shit on the steps.

Drowning myself in the pretext of measured margins. gathering my dirt. into handsome piles. defined by the paradoxes. that correlate want and decision.

a single mosquito bite. one small sting. confirms every itch.

the soil spreads between her fingers. the flaunt of conduction. the parody of inertia. numbers stern with the promise of skin. time dense with the weight of touch. struggles to move on our brittle crutches.

she bites her tongue. the years released filling her cheeks. turning them shades of blue and red. ripened. bargaining with gravity. for one more moment. like fruit too long on the tree.

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