Thursday 6/30/2011 01:12:00 AM

the chase. fingers in the spark. burnt not by the fire, rather the darkness.

the rabbit in the tool shed hides behind the saw. not a stick of wood left to build with. the girl waits by the hammer. but there are no nails left to hit. time withers at the thought of her. a manic clown drowning in its makeup. if there were years they were too short. if there are only minutes they are mercilessly long.

the stone orchestra that chooses her thoughts. in collisions of reason and madness. too quiet to understand. too loud to ignore.

trails that stumble between now and then. the manic curiosity of if. chokes of thunder. squeeze through the clench of darkness. in a trickle of numbers dangerously close to zero.

the rumble of choices. lightning bolts and syringes. make more sickness than they cure. the taste of the infection. white with desperation. colors wrestled from disease.

a pinwheel in the wind.

spinning.

alone.

Monday 6/27/2011 01:07:00 AM

the structure. torn pockets content with the vertigo of broken thread. the substance. soft skin. hard bones. close enough to hurt one another. the shear. the years rasped off. layers. fragments of. the tensile disputes between touch and pleasure. when such discrepancies could still be measured.

the callous. tempts the hammer. eager to feel again. while the scar hisses hard against the silence. brutally entitled to its want.

the villains. worn down to the nub. as she scours the puzzle for excuses. the days in pencil. the nights in ink.

pictures. in dust and skin. heavy butterflies stall the wind. missing steps. rabbits in the garden. the absolute. the praise of the symptoms. the worship of the disease.

her trial in empty dresses. her conviction as naked as her defense.

Saturday 6/25/2011 12:35:00 AM

the minimum. numbers on the side. sums at the bottom. scavengers in the swallow. the vague of dispensation. bones tutor the flesh. in tunnels and knots. until all paths are either hollow or dead ends.

the arrow. how high. provisions of distance. follow the skeleton for reference. the poison of if. rigid and brittle. the pale companion of choice withers against circumstance. loose fangs in the mouths of monsters. still plenty sharp enough.

places. time. the intersection. between lie and confession. hard soil with deep holes dug. mountains bending down to let us touch the summit. good thieves and bad. gods and demons. all of them strays. With their eyes closed. Feeling for the edge.

where the stitches are loose are the fabric forgives.

Tuesday 6/21/2011 12:28:00 AM

the seldom. fabric smiles on petroleum cheeks. caution. stitches. blunt needles stir the setting potion. years. the weep of silk. from flattened spiders. their prey still caught. waiting for the killer that never comes.

the glamour. frantic conditions. the journey in zippers up her legs. teeth up her spine. tongues down her thighs. the taste. the scent. the incredible dilemma of when anything was worth remembering.

closure. sutures on the the exposed. open flesh. grinning bones. needless of the skeleton. pieces. broken stilts. still higher than I've ever felt.

the stench. a tuxedo of skin. a skunk. the black and white of choices. lost inside the walls. knots and stitches. the formalities of touch overwhelming. the consequences disproportionately severe.

Sunday 6/19/2011 12:55:00 AM

fragments of need. in cuts and swallows. the lurch of bones under heavy skin. still moves me closer. the throb of muscle under her clothes. exposes much more than it conceals.

the atom. the goat. the faint tug of gravity as the atmosphere approaches. she's like a drizzle. gentle and barely there. a victim of herself. she's a blizzard. as blind as it is mad.

she takes confessions. drops of blood in her underwear. stains in her bed to lay upon. pretend to choose what is left to be had.

the apple. the sweet poison. of seeds yet to be planted.

Thursday 6/16/2011 12:46:00 AM

breath evolves the same as any organism is wont to do. need festers and boils. until from the muck the solution is distilled.

touch approaches. with an empty quiver and a broken bow. determined to kill anything not its own.

the farce is patient and infinitesimal. tiny dividers keep the moments apart. so that there is space for growth.

she scribbles her numbers down. as all observers must do. watching the path of the elevator for clues.

hollow walls. carelessly. shuffle the people inside them.

time's match catches on her dress. the flame is cruel and tender. as the burn consumes.

Monday 6/13/2011 12:31:00 AM

the bloated parasite falls off the skin. dense with the blood form a lifetime of choices. the ladder shakes as she approaches the terrace. she assumed the window would be open. a pivotal mistake.

knots in the map. Bend her path. broken bulbs in heavy lamps. she listens carefully for the colors, but white is all that's left.

the marker fades are she continues to trace. so many outlines without a middle. every moment. in papier mache. sticky, wet and soft with sunken faces.

determined to set. even if that means these voids are permanent.

Saturday 6/11/2011 12:48:00 AM

comes the fury in distilled abundance. her empty pockets all too appropriate. as he pays the bartender for access to the sparks of worlds that might not exist.

the closet. the cloak. foxes out of breath. as the hounds peruse. petulant variables all a bit too familiar.

the light overhead. the darkness below. the contrition of heroes. the ego of villains.

her pencil sharp. as she studies the math. fractions of how. a series of when. the perfect collision of flesh and intent. no measure. except the man.

cracks in sidewalks. to step on. open windows. ripe with the marrow of loss. hollow bones. frail skeletons. strutting in their missing clothes.

Thursday 6/09/2011 12:05:00 AM

the action spoils the intent. the future in high heels. the past still wet cement.

her pail is empty as the moat swells with ocean. the tide comes in. and eventually leaves. depositing strangers at her doorstep. taking away with it bits of her castle into the insatiable sea. quite an uneven exchange.

the dark tugs on the zipper's pull. the silence pushes apart the teeth. she scribbles on the map. feigning a route. if only she could remember where she began.

she slips out of the costume. herself a pile at her feet. she gazes upon the empty skin. lengthy funerals of when. she presses on the wrinkles. the ugly folds of Pavlov's condition. gauging their resistance. certain she'll still find herself somewhere inside them.

Tuesday 6/07/2011 01:08:00 AM

am trying out contributing to yahoo. any feedback is much appreciated.

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Saturday 6/04/2011 11:48:00 PM

the air is sharp. breath in blades slice through enviable flesh. the poison is muted. deaf. mine to determine. fallow. transparent. mine alone to hate. lies left on the pillow. long after all skin is used up. empty indents to sleep inside. to dream against. the same stubborn heaven every hopeless creature has.

shy doors. lost inside the threshold. moment and man. the callous charm of windows. convincing us that we can see. what can only be know through touch. the sweep of us distance. swallows the wolves. leaving only the sheep.

her debate whittles down to only measure and mania. the fever of knowing. and ignorance's inevitable vaccine. her body the map. his journey nearly complete.

Friday 6/03/2011 12:55:00 AM

the yolk is broken.
the shell is empty.
wearing her eyes in onion skins.
she traces the thin edges
that determine the center.
panting wolves
churning on their famine.

the depth is null.
the rim of the glass
the only divinity.

inside the eye
she struggles to see.
visions so vast.
they erase her
with every blink.
scribble her back in
at each opening.

she hits.
helpeless.
raindrops on glass.
the storm
just beginning.

6/03/2011 12:29:00 AM

patient is life as it waits on the winter's end.

the sun in punches. soft jabs through the chill. stir gentle at first. like music. a tender chorus slowly building toward a manic rebirth.

the flowers listen to the heartbeat of the earth. growing their roots in time with its tempo. soft is the first bloom. tender and fragrant. squeaking swings still swaying long after all the children have gone home.

bold mornings rife with moist skin and the ocean's heavy cloak. the sand hot under her feet. the path ahead still cold.

rigid is the last. as the chill begins to return.

Wednesday 6/01/2011 12:49:00 AM

parellels. isolated. the fission of minutes are time lumbers on. her chalky fingers. feel for the blank. where there is still room to write.


her stories stall just before the end approaches. dank closets. where the skeletond hide their shrouds. parched epiphanie on the finger of the sun. the choiec is only this. live or die.

there is no reasoning with the curtains. Nor the window's shattered glass. the outsides tumbles in. Like melting chocolate. Until everything is as sweet as it is dark.

the world ends when i close my eyes.

but each time i open them up again, it's a little less eager to begin.

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