sideways singularities. sequin petal porcupines. her concessions. warm and bright. with rusted needles and missing buttons. parallel conditions. cloud kiss spectrograph pantomimes. her lies. warm and bright. with soft hooks and tender wrenches.

the parable at her back confessing loudly. brutal butterflies tickle the wind. the hole in her abdomen claws for closure. candy mountains melting into sticky moats. all our protagonists suffocated in a sweet sugar coating.

the purple falcon with domino eyes hunts accusingly at the sparrow's side.

yesterday. yellow like the claws of the sun. long corridors drowning in exits. black as the pillow that steals her frown. still transmitting, pastel blue tortoises in the armpits of gods. the nightmares of omnipotence smaller than I'd imagined.

sparkle stabs in melting engines. the sublime autonomy of selfishness.

measuring the void by the strength in gravity's fist. mapping the journey by depth of the abyss.

the simple paradox that is reason.

square eyes feign sight. a calm and chaotic tableau. feverish with needles and skin. thirsty for dreams that never come.

it's grey. always without color now. a thunder of images betray. thin scabs. deep cuts. healing comes in a blink of vision that consumes. it's red. sour with the tint of touch. though everything is so distant.

round fists hold onto nothing. a simple and profound chasm. sober with truth and speculation. high on lies no one has told.

the zipper bites down on what's between us. dull teeth chew on hunger's spoiled feast. it doesn't fit anymore. these bones. this flesh. this face. too big. too small. too everything.

broken skin. no blood. the treason of want easily solves us.

the bridge is weak. the connection is costly. but we'd pay anything.

angles flaunt the swallow. the beautiful choke. of desire. a turbulent eruption of panic. in a sea of constants.

the september of now is tomorrow's winter.

sour atoms flaunt the fission. closer to god. by divisions of paradise. she whispers like knots coming undone. her voice straining on every syllable. her lips trembling with all the truths she never thought would catch up to her.

outside the world is thick and simple. heavy molasses skin. wears her too sweetly. spoils the bones. through the window the story glistens. moist and warm. sweaty gods raping their plastic Jesus. the path drips from her cunt. the destination festers in her abdomen.

she trusts the lie. knowing everything it isn't.

she has the hours. a deeper well. weak with thirst. she chases the rain. every drop a criminal. as the sky betrays. she names the clouds. as if they are her own. simple puzzles eager to become complicated. waiting. at the open bridge. certain the water is listening.

simple stitches the threads of time. the needle between her legs. all knotting together. the future is a predator.

the world is lonely and colorful. easy to envy. after all those hues have faded. thick like molasses. sticky gods with collapsing veins. heavy skeletons sorting the bones. the world chokes. on empty needles.

it's not like we were young enough then. to know how much there was to lose.

treasure maps and turnstiles. the silver sleep of the young. the world is sharp. so sharp. every encounter cuts. the world is meat. torn and rotting and dead.


pencils and crayons and paper. the scissors in her throat. as she tries to speak. tired mariners arguing with the ocean.

the world is numbers. content to dance to the flesh's cold arithmetic. the world is bridges. pathways. roads. hungry veins pumping to the rhythmic chaos. touch in hollow auctions. wagers of want. ruptures of when.

velvet monsters. softer than waiting. for the world to end. a sin of words. in simple lies. in neccesary fictions.

the world is weightless. benign to gravity. while i continue to sink.

tablets draw the wolf. shadows trace the skin. dead things. sharp as breath. the bone trembles. nervous against the touch. the drug lisps. self-conscious with the notion. a zoo of choices. hungry and loud. a parable of animals content with their leashes.

solving for strays. the envy of the equation is chance. possibilities spread like whores. flaunting the freedom of their diseases.

colors trust. yellow atoms spoil the electrons. grey machines wear the empty. in tiny cuts. no need for bandages.

stories and shelves. press on the walls. measure the hours in manipulations. do their math with flesh.

patient thieves. charm their victims. with the simple arithmetic of touch.

we are all time travellers. rigid machines reckoning with fickle worlds. plump petitions of skin forfeiting the past for days yet to come. baskets in the forest. sparks in the inferno. places to be. like frozen masks. thawing. breaking. against absent faces. long leashes follow her. as she wanders into the darkness.

the parable of when chasing us. stumbling. out of breath. small things casting shadows like giants. the light too distant. and no one looking.

the saboteur in her panties whispers up her spine. her flesh like chewing gum. her thoughts like candy. 

time slouches onward. a maddening repetition. want. have. lose. frivolous puppets gnawing on their strings. desperate for freedom. oblivious to the consequences. when we dance. when we laugh. it's already too late.

life wheezes through us. a bitter friction. dying with each moment lived. the sandpaper of touch smooths the surface. we are close. or once were. like stories written. fiction. like time machines. theories. speculation. perilous gods and treacherous angels. flooding the future. because everything else is lost. or too far away.

it's not like we agreed on what would come next. paper in the fireplace. the ink still wet. skin on the floor. wears the dirt in daggers. eyes on the walls. swallow sight in stabs. every hour has teeth. every year has claws. life consumes us.  these bones merely a staple in the corner of a stack of could have beens.

carcasses in need of teeth. to puncture. what remains. that's all that there ever really was. the punch of now. weak, but sharp. a determined treble. the rumble of bass. a reluctant surrender. no music. just sound.

stern to bow. tempest to tornado. the wind coughs and we are. the end suspects her. the beginning conceives. malleable dolls in sparkling gowns and bent tiaras. the slope of condition. not so slippery after all. one more party that doesn't know when to end.

arrogant authors sharpening their pens. no paper. just skin. the stubborn parchment of flesh. swimming. drowning in the ink. a flood of words. a hurricane of choices. eager to manufacture gods. smother the science that leaves us empty.

she panics. realizing the distance is too great. she embraces the world in hopscotch squares. Pebbles tossed. quantum rebellions. running on one leg. fetching freedom in a series of leaky buckets. gods destroyed by the simple thirst of every man. to know. to dominate.

soft pencil marks trace the bouquet. the scent of surrender puts her to bed. outlines solve for numerous x's. the calm equations of liberals and madmen.

cut in the scars that belong there. stranded in the future. all those breadcrumbs gone. no way back. no means forward. only the belly of the wolf to keep us warm. 

a butterfly is a monster. with huge fangs and sharp claws. a flower is a room without windows or a door. a song is a number without a name.

fingers map the terrain. slender paths choke the journey. no more going there. only leaving those places. a butterfly in a flower reciting a song.

a smile is a weapon. blunt and heavy. a cloud is a world without light or air. a poem is a word without a definition.

eyes chase the edges. thick borders suffocate the hunt. no more feeding. only death. a smile in a cloud whispering a poem.

a kiss is a deadly poison. eager fatality. a touch is a deep abyss. a voice is a planet without gravity. no more getting closer. always moving away. a kiss inside a touch chasing voices.

choices like thunder. circumstances like rain. The surface in screams. The drowning in whispers.

mazes in the flesh. lies become us. edges turn. sheep without clothing. wolves in their underwear. bloated with intent. otherwise empty. the numbers are loud. Screaming. Imagining. Someone still listens.

the truth is hungry. desperate to consume. the future is different. only in the smallest sense. we stumble closer. pebbles pierce the surface of the water. sinking fast. Save the monsters for another day. I've seen enough.

name the shadows. corners much darker than the geometry of angles would suggest.

open the zipper. the world tumbles in. pale dominoes. manipulate the angles. the blunt trivia of want. bets on thieves. steals the sour from her cunt. draws its maps by the creases in her lips. the world forgives her. continues dancing to the easy rhythm of absent gods.

touch like strays. never satisfied. rabid confessors. i see the world as i assume the world must see all of us. spitefully alone. dull needles whispering with thread. drawn to the tears. all the soft places that scornfully beckon mending. when to continue bleeding is all that they really want.

fond of the darkness because it keeps our secrets. drawn to the corners. because sharp angles listen better.

the future finds her. far from home and eager to determine. how far she's come. how much further there is to go.

I've seen the world end. i trust the chaos that convinces us to love.

pretty dolls with their faces all pencilled in. empty outlines hungry for color. in a grey world.

simple she says. simple enough. this redundant arithmetic. add. multiply. subtract. divide. skin. touch. want. give. pieces of gravity spinning in her head. as the ground falls away. i see it. i see it she protests. the abyss slumbering beneath us. beginning to wake.

particles decaying. the taste of emptiness bloating her cunt. hours unravelling. the piss of apathy much too sweet on her lips. it's easy. too easy she warns. to become strangers.

matchsticks in the flames. the lure of familiar prisons. the tremble of time as it lurhces onward on cracking crutches. can't run. can't crawl. falling forward. listen, she says. listen closely. to the scabs that are forming.

wounds close. the blood remains.

thieves on the moon. scraps of paper. trying to absorb the ocean. we change the world. and the world changes us. stabbing in colors. though everything is still grey.

it's not enough.

Conditions of when. seldom thieves are left picking empty pockets. If it's never over, then it never began. Fingernails in the dirt. Digging. Tiny graves for tiny men. The years took me by surprise. As I imagine, they do everyone.

The numbers breathe. Sickly and loud. The scald of life burns hot. Small places I rarely visit. Measure the depth of my footprint. Wrinkles in time shuffle our faces and spit us out.

Old enough to wonder. Young enough to ask. How far it is.

Thieves. collectors. Scientists. Stone and glass. Turned pages. Shout like thunder. Scream like the bones too close to the skin.

We're drawing walls. We're scratching boxes. Like the end will be enough.

Broken glass. Spitting atoms. an experiment in paper cuts. An abundance of wounds. No blood.

salvage and substitution. figurative heroes in absent capes. the process becomes them. filter and consume. use and collect. plastics and flesh. hollow bones. heavy faces. suffocating on the wind. no eyes. no lips. just fists full of nothing. and places we never intended to go.

the mind is a predator. the truth is a weapon. arguing with the science. polishing the relentless death. no ceremony. no grief. just gone.

a priority of touch. a conflict of contrition. templates for god in strangers crotches. sketches. waiting for an artist.

sallow and severe. a surrender in blue. a victory in orange. the color of choice weighs on her paper. life comes in stabs and bursts. thunder and lightning. starvation and thirst. young. old. all the same. lost. alone. in a world that's always ending.

we're not there. we're not even close. lipstick on the asshole of evolution. wondering what smells so bad.

doors tremble. windows stutter. blame the atom. knowing it's too small. Simple paths to that empty place. it's always there. i just fall sleep sometimes and forget. how much they echo with people there. Save the snow for when it's dark.

the trial. like apple skins. the conviction cut grass. no numbers to name us. or give depth to this shallow trek. just chains. proliferating in empty attics. a collection of ghosts searching for lives to hold onto.

the echo of rain. the piss of nature as it chokes on us. breath. sweat. blood. parlor tricks of skin. to convince us we can feel. and be felt. and be missed. tears. cum. spit. measures of men in the absence of humanity.

the listening. terrible stories.

anthems. cataracts of the soul. blindness the only mercy in a colorless world.

the forest. the predator. the scale. that thoughtlessly weighs their abundance. chalk on her cheek. blood on her wrists. dead is nothing. alive is even less. she wears every shadow until it breaks. chasing each matchstick.

the cold flame. the sour prophet. the sweet poison. missing monsters. chasing faith.

swallow the skin. a funnel of doors. manipulate the walls. taste the edge. a thunder of dolls. as naked as you left them. plastic thighs too stiff to open. painted eyes struggle to see. she's just a picture. stuttering math draws her lips. promising words that never come. she's just colors. tricks of light. that coax images from nothing. a game of contrasts. that abruptly ends when they stop looking.

the science is mutable. a muddy series of numbers picking at the holes in the flesh. the universe is always hungry. famished for dust and sand. All the tiny particles that offer surrender. when the monkey is feeling superior.

content to keep digging.

confronted with paradox. broken clocks and needles spent. holes in the world spit us out. won't let us be swallowed. kites frantic to touch the sun.

to burn. to prove.

that Atlas shrugs.

catching time. in buckets and vomit. with bruises and fists. calculating moments. in blood and bullets. with razors and syringes.

no drug is easy. none is hard. they are all the same. soft boiled eggs in a cold pan. raw meat on thin bread. saturated. sickness in a fury of hunger. tempting us to swallow what we cannot digest.

the world is candy. hard and sour. the perpetuity of consciousness a weak constant against the frivolity of sweet skin. shards of thought breathe their mosaic. in a surrender of flesh.

distance confronts her. sharp atoms. Cut holes in the math. the arrogant equations that would tell us. if not for the weight of ambivalence.

Her paper raft argues with the ocean. Even as it's falling apart. Determined to find the source. of all this waiting.

a soft needle in a hard vein. it's not the end of the world, but it might as well be.

paces and osmosis. terminal whispers. the ladder at the back of her throat. attempts to connect cerebrum and flesh. and fails again. shy songs. loud potions. as the path diverges. deeper into the wood or toward the pavement. The zipper in her head coming undone. the battles we choose aren't necessarily the battles we think we can win.

numbers. the flaccid biography of all life. counting down. living. that slow self destruct. with the start comes the end. always. thin butterfly wings solve for the cockroaches. Her eyes dead light bulbs. Her fists empty sockets. Nothing starts. nothing finished. It's all just the space between hollow milestones.

the fox on the pedestal. the lion in the brush. hunters and hunted converge in a spectacular eruption of conditions. alone in the thread. Smothered in the needle.

the package. the box unopened. everything and nothing inside it. Schrodinger's paradox resonating. dead and alive. here and gone. counting out loud. so they will know. how many pieces are missing.

trust the blade. allow it to find the blood. Manic finger paintings. Of if and when. we were close enough to dismantle the edge.

grieve. for the endless hunger of the wind. stern apostrophes debate proper possession. moist teddy bears search for condoms among the dead.

ignore the sounds. as infinity approaches. the tumble of life. turning in the galaxy's hollow drum. a ritual. no gravity. just holding on. to broken strings. bruised fingers on the button. fractured feet on the pedal. as the machine surrenders. years shy and way beyond empty. numbers crush to know us. or anywhere we've been.

follow the spider. as he weaves his web. a series of murders dismissed as living.

own the cocoon. embrace the shell. as it devours what was. tomorrow's stern ambition. owning everything we are.

chase the tiger. choke on his stripes. the truth in paper cuts.

the lives of angels and demons. profoundly similar.

dark. it's always so dark here. my eyes are stiff. blind, but pretending to see. the claws on the chalkboard that make it scream. the holes in the world ready to swallow us. brick and mortar. bone and skin. elements. small pieces. a mosaic of when. skin was still to be trusted. fingers could still feel.

dark. it's always dark here. vision like falling raindrops. quietly hits the ground. adding weight to the distance. adding color to pencil marks. silhouettes melting onto skeletons. darker. so much darker. floods of ink.

awkward with punctuation. the grammar of touch. frail words. like butterfly wings. cut by the wind. whispering change with every sneeze.

dark. it's always dark. her lips like thunder. her touch lightning. man negotiating his monkey. doubt fortifies. a panic of strangers. in these stairways. I'm blind. always have been. it's all dark. I'm guessing. every corner. every step.

sight. another wonderful lie i almost believe.

the insects stutter. loud remedies. to cure this nothing. her zipper sticks. caught on the distance between. perilous Edens. the stalk of paradise. like elements. stiff with oxygen. the brevity of choice. scratches on the door. claws in the couch. like we are alone here. divided by the amity of time. gingerbread houses and candy cane curtains. spoiling their path. choking on the flames. inheriting the murders. old women and liars. sick with open bridges. that never let us cross.

it's tomorrow and I barely know it. it's tomorrow like the claws on her back. the world whispers. loud enough for her to hear. nothing is gentle. the lies have their stories. everything is sharp. she cuts herself on the beginnings. and is fine to continue bleeding.

she doesn't have numbers. isn't aware of the plateau. the storm sneaks in quietly. disappears just as impotent. loudly silent.

It's not like sight ever mattered. it's not as though the blind were listening. even when it was all that we had. taste the weakness. surrender to the notion. the parity of lost. the enormous freedom that follows surrender. feed the jackals. pet the wolves. a little blood. a little meat. happiness is a carnivore. a cannibal.

know. that the desert forgets us. nature is feeble. the chemical is superior.

let me find you. stiff jeans. perforated veins. let the butterfly beat its wings. let the storm decide. how dark it will be.

the grinning sky. not listening. the soft street. chasing. papers in the wind. before there was ink we had blood. now these veins are empty. as quiet as the world that owns us. tiny pictures. staining the glass between. engine and lantern. light and power. murder and mercy. it's when it's darkest that best I can see.

the tear in the fabric. weeping on her skin. the needle in her fingers. pistons thrusting in a vacuum. strangers playing god to the devils in her head. the simple paths. the broken leaves. storybooks in tremors. breadcrumbs in machetes.

the apple ripe. the garden eager. the choice still sowing seeds.

it's quiet. the numbers. the faces. looking for flowers and footprints in the mud after the storm. everyone shares the raindrops. but the dirt is always our own.

a narrow road. a hungry man. they are each the same. a mile. an inch. under these circumstances they both measure the same.