Thursday 2/23/2012 01:18:00 AM

the pig bleeds. caught in the doorway. the knob turning. like autumn leaves. ready to fall. incidental math. divides us.

the sand is soft. the lie is kneen and studious. obsessed with the opportunity to multiply.

the pig squeal. stuck. dying. suffocated in the urgency of our richer needs. her fangs soft. not long enough to kill. negotiate. the plaintive funerals. of stalled ladders and empty elevators.

going up. like broken pencils. killing the paper. worthless stolen jewels. the chlorine. harsh chemicals. that sweat the filth off of this drowning. the thread. the tiny knot. that convinces the needle to hang on to it. Even after it has failed to mend. the holes. that cry out. for stitches.

cold tortoise. sick with breath. chases the hare. to its darkest places. gentles lies. poison her resolve. thick curtains. cut the play in half. leaving behind only the blood.

her animals all speaking at once. a satirical debate. the weep of addiction. tries to tame her. but the leash is broken. she walks. like the bridge is her. Though the auction is ongoing. Its ownership still uncertain. She wonders whether the math can be trusted.

Hard triangles broach the map. Soft geometty. Weak measures. She wears the pattern. And is worn by it. The simple thrust of confession. pierces the apple in her head.

she reaches into the thick of her monsters. ready to begin counting again.

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