Page numbers and pistols. Sort out the loose skin. Wet kittens dance on boiling stages. Naked, but for their unretractable claws. Drawn. stiff lines in the wick of the darkness. Bait the flame. With eyes of kerosene. Plenty worn dolls carry their fists in their pockets. Looking for a stranger with small change.
Corners. Magnificent juxtapositions of choice and hysterics. Stories. Faces. Like broken mountains and falling suns. Math. The numbers in her fist. And between her legs. A seldom series of quiet and contrition. Touch in chamferred corners and lilting gowns. Choices much sharper.
Colors. Strand them. Doomed to each other. The pale grin of touch as it reveals her to him. in broken puzzle pieces. This close to dead everything is huge.
Walls. Eyes of brick. Words like mortar. The wild. In doses of her. Foul medicine for the dying. From this distance everything is small.
Thursday
4/26/2012 12:55:00 AM
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