Friday 8/26/2011 12:22:00 AM

paper sails propel empty boats. barking shadows. menace the dark. until it rains again.

the truth is patient. it waits us out.

time is delicate. it tears too easily. foil princes loyal to the fickle science. of hungry wolves. her eyes a flush of contrition. as she measures the missing years.

the monster misses. ribbons and onion skin. trace the past. the jump ropes of slaves. the choices. she's stolen. empty boxes.

enchanted by the rain. seduced by the thunder. a far away storm that pretends to be close.

Monday 8/22/2011 12:05:00 AM

she used to sleep. now she just sometimes forgets she's awake.

she spreads her legs to let them enter her time machine. confident in the location of the instruments. no machine is worthwhile until it can be persuaded to do what you want.

there are cautions. in the colors of flesh. the apple hardly the last of her temptations.

there are monsters that no longer frighten. Though they remain every bit a threat.

the window in her throat. confess loudly. the years her lips have yet to tell.

Wednesday 8/17/2011 11:21:00 PM

an arrow at the back of her throat. changes direction. she isn't moved.

her fingers are tissue paper. as she tries to feel.

the charmless hero waddles beneath his cape. while the girl still waits to be rescued.

a choice of poisons. each one equally as fatal. one sour. one sweet. ultimately. the bitter wins her over.

her legs tremble. as she climbs the steep stairways. each floor a fleeting destination. promiscuous gods tracing the outlines of their angels on onion skin paper.

her eyes. like pebbles. thrown away on wishing wells.

Sunday 8/14/2011 11:59:00 PM

the years moved swiftly through her skin. a simple syrup. sour, but fortified with stubbornness. By the prospect of predators arrogant with the hunt.

she names the voids. the barren geometry of choice. tugs on the frays in the hem of her dress. monsters in the beds of men. proving her naked. like hungry matches. desperate for oxygen. devour the flame. the tiny matchstick mad enough to consume immeasurable darkness.

the arrow. the want. soldier enough. in enduring wars. with stagnant kings. weakened by the crown. their spears. heavy with the copious conditions. that giants woulds defend. from the empty tables that feast would pretend.

the simple execution of words. close to the needle. the spoil of lovers. as her song fades. the hatchet to the wolf's belly. As the forest is calculated.

there is time enough she insists. Asphalt to chase. And pus to suspect. As she learns from the infection. Leaving the penny to the fountain. and the bridges to collapse.

she's there again. the same as she always was. blade and barter second thoughts. as the minutes prowl in their thunder. hours erupting to the touch of strangers.

Thursday 8/11/2011 11:19:00 PM

sudden truths give way to slower lies. every breath is an invasion. her lungs weep at the prospect of another minute wasted being alive.

small pebbles bore big holes. over time. dull blades still cut. just slower. more jagged.

she chews on the remnants of her former life. soiled blankets content in their filth. now burn in bleached buckets. broken doll parts chafe against the friction of becoming whole again. the void gapes and yawns against the threat of her sobriety. almost as angry as she is that it's over.

tiny knots multiply across long lengths of rope. her rappel is brief. quickly over the edge. to shit on gravity. the climb is infinite. up is without definition. a cautious quality of suspicion. puzzle pieces. desperate for an image. in a place without vision.

she shouts at the deafness that is choices. making any still left to her. she punches the lead walls that shape the world. hunting for windows she's not certain were ever there. weak candles in long, unlit corridors. straining toward a distant wind.

Sunday 8/07/2011 11:49:00 PM

faces like tunnels. eyes like graves.

walk with me. next to nothing. lend me your truth. just for the night. let me learn. how empty the world is.

trust the flame. its purpose does not waiver. it must consume.

color me in. i am an outline. hungry for dimension. in a world with so little of it.

scales in the dark. weigh what cannot be seen. little pigs in their houses. whores to the wolf. spend their flesh in pennies. though there are dollars to be had.

time folds to surrender. ladders reach the window. by drunken stabs. the curtain finds her. poised to the cadavers. eyes in the moon. watch the world. end.

i ask her. where she's going. she says nowhere. i follow her. on her lonely path. needles and thread. like dull pencils. faking pictures. making seams where nothing is connected.

i take her. as she is. flesh in crutches. broken bones beneath it. the poise of obstinance. As it rages against. humbles origins. i take her. in cuts of color. ripe with bile. every hour is throw up. every minute after victory.

the radius. the conundrum. of circles and decision. the powerless man. confined to his pause. if it was always this quiet. its only now that i hear it.

Friday 8/05/2011 11:21:00 PM

i hadn't been counting for quite sometime. but the numbers are independent from the whims of thought. i hadn't been counting for years, still the numbers still continued going up. a soft swarm of drones. each one plunging its stinger deep. i never felt them at all. until i looked down and saw the pile pf torn abdomens at my feet.

there is no feeling in the the touch. nor any pain in the intrusion. it's in the afterwards. when the majority of our lives occur to us.

she was chewing gently on the fire. ample coals dense with the heat. left over after so many years of wanting. her window barely open. the glass badly blurred. worshipping the fragile notion. that something exists beyond it.

just barely choice enough he cautioned me as i lingered on the idea. that nowhere could serve as a destination. i wouldn't have kept going had i known then. how strong it would be. the pull of his emptiness.

the sober chase of the glass. all the world is windows. transparent scenes. intangible. a rigorous series of flamboyant sunsets. raging with color and fury. too far way to be real.

Tuesday 8/02/2011 11:04:00 PM

strays in the pudding. mice and vinegar kisses. tickle their way down her throat. pebbles in the soup. chocolate and onions garnish her thighs. the feast is putrid. but her hunger is more powerful than her revulsion.

the parable assembles itself. with rusted screws and rotting wood. she follows it. sewing her stitches. obsessed with the knot at the end of the thread. so small. it often slips through. a long series of careless metaphors. her creation far more gap than bridge.

the expectation chews on her. molars and canines filthy with sweat and menstruation. chances fouled to the basest con. the fallacy of wholeness spoils each of the fragments. making each tiny piece even smaller somehow.

the raw thrust of humility as it sneaks inside her. a subtle rape. a trenchant violation. a crime without a name. a less than innocent victim.

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