one pupil small. the other one large. dark and light each the same. the howl. slipknot strangulation. the sputter. partial hangings. toxic gas. the realization. powerless. surviving god by nickels and broomsticks.

calculating the distance between strangers and sex. in ratios of carbon to oxygen atoms. the obtuse  science of faces wasting so much beautiful skin. one eye opened. the other closed. near and far each the same.

a forest. a psychosis of choices. always autumn. always losing pieces.

a road. a funeral of faces. an autopsy of trust. always winter. always bleak. everything barren.

nothing moves. or feels. no one sees. or looks. a panic of open bridges. so much hungry water below. so much empty sky above.

two eyes. one vision. one blindness.

worn. frayed extension cords. partial hangings. used. vacant rooms. idling engines. neckties and twine like streamers. a cocktail of blood and vomit wakes her up.

one pupil dilated. the other refusing change. the world viciously invading. a barking dog in the distance. rapidly approaching. 

her skin dripping off. her voice melting. everything is liquid. nothing to grab. 

yellow autumns. purple winters. the bruised colors of her want. the world breaking. loudly. against soft hammers. rigid nails. stealing the sun from guarded corners. tempting angles. sober with beautiful diseases. the weather menacing. callous rain. sympathetic wind.

she was all caught up in her debate with gravity. not realizing it had already surrendered. the ground below a fuzzy dream from which she'd already awoken. the world above a simple chaos. brutal, manic and indifferent. real only because we desire it.
dots to connect. if only she could find a pencil. colors to trade for sound. clothes to take off. poisons to ingest.

drowning in stories. the end is infectious. slipping into another skin. choosing. from a long wardrobe of strangers she wishes to become. abandoning the panic that is herself. submitting.

the world ends quietly. in whispers and asides. life is a brief play. full of far too many actors and very little reason. pressing the buttons. naming the voids. igniting the engine. pretending to go somewhere. swallowing her cunt. humbled by the simple mazes that render us lost.

the truth in needles and medicine. because we are ill. terminal. scarred veins receive the antidote. and reject the healing. stiff gardens wear the world in broken zippers. gravity both a traitor and an ally.

as the fall takes over.

worn bricks. narrow the doorway.  debate the steps. a facade of numbers plays with division. manic. like blood from her wrists. certain. like the song that plays while she drowns. the road negotiates. the soil convinces. hesitant feet. they are almost there.

it's purpose. an oblivion of bridges. twinkling and choking on the sickly horizon. doggedly chasing that thin line between sun rise and sun set. imaginging the world in needles. frayed teddy bears and diluted poisons.

newspaper in the cage. begging for piss.

zipper in her veins. biting down hard. a slurry of shit and tears. scratches out her face. 

the hill to fall down. the bucket to spill. the empty stage. butterflies sneezing. and the disolve of cocoons.

the simple lies the skin tells. more paper than scissors. suffocating in words that don't belong.

empty pictures drawn in dark corners of the mind. stare. tremble. echo. with spasms of life. that cruel and determined union of blood and oxygen that constantly befouls an otherwise beautiful science.  

the numbers pierce. the equation stabs. panicked with life. swollen with death. grey. long arms stretch.  humble fingers barely touch. indifferent ears search. struggle to find. that one perfect scream of silence.

shame. moist with good intent. the lamb to the grass. the blade to the neck. the world thunders and stomps arrogant with the assumption that life matters.

the end is never close enough. the edge is always jagged. every moment a stutter. every word a treason.

the glass is frozen. the world forgotten. a hyperbole of touch. pencils its victims into crowded books. dissonant fevers of sight and touch. wear the child. discard the woman.

she pets the wolf. anxious to befriend the villain. that's what the world wants.

she chokes the lamb. determined to dispatch with the victim. that's what the world demands.

writing them in missing words and absent texts. teasing temporary religions. like money and sex.

loneliness thick with predators. darkness swollen with memories. wet matches bathe in the flames. muted lips press against the glass.

breadcrumbs manipulating soldiers. the war only just begun. and she's already been defeated.

evolution. piglets and pencils. bluntly stabbing broken balloons. choices. pudding skin and parables. loose paper clips on torn pages. the end in nasty verbs. the beginning in ugly adjectives. worn by the words.

skin like templates. hollow cavities receive the madness. jagged pieces stab into place.

beautiful pictures. time dilates. atoms excited. gaunt pupils rough with contingencies. discarded crayons thin against the paper. the easy lies. temptation floats. the hard truths. sputter and sink. deep oceans. sparse buoys.

weeping ghosts gnaw on the stale bones of life. the wind sings - grief and anguish. powerless. tethered to a rotting world. dogs and toothpicks. folding paper. creasing the pages in finished lives.

paths enumerate. patterns transcend. the machine coughs. catches its breath. and then deposits us at the beginning of the end.

the fiction is just this. that there are any lights at all. that sight exists. by any standard of the imagination or folly of memory that might persist.

the universe doesn't wear clothes. it's always been naked. it was my mistake. thinking it had any shame.

angles resolve. to the threshold of desperation. the maps and the measures betray. the geometry of touch is obtuse. the math deadens. everything is so far away.

the wind. the world. in moisture on the windows. distant, yet powerful. kites on torn strings. carelessly teasing the sun. until the moment they are incinerated.

we don't wait for the end. we pursue it. children begging strangers for candy.

all too eager to be poisoned.

dying happens slowly. not as you would expect. piece by piece. until only empty skin is left. dying happens, but the disease is living.

voices like sticks and stones. i've failed the future. i've wasted the past.

this world doesn't want me. i don't want it. two strangers. sit silently. alone in a room. 

i'm paper. empty lines. trembling with looming words. i'm chapters. thick with resentment. drowning in a world where i don't know how to swim.

hoping it will kill me, but constantly disappointed.

i'm blind. no light. scraping for an exit. selling despair. from pinheads and syringes.

time is small. fits inside my palm. tin gears and paper pistons. moments are vast. cardboard gods and plastic satans. dwarf everything.

it was world enough. or so she thought. the sun also rising on so many years of darkness. strings. chasing the arcs of the soul. nervous worms blindly navigating the soil in her head.

she let the lie tell her. content to be the character. she squeezed the wind. cluthced it. like strings on the fingers of god.


the weak grew strong. pulp and ink in an eddy of when.

she gave nothing to the world. had nothing to spare it. And received the same. an orphan of the universe. drowning in a sea of distant stars. negotiating with eternal darkess. stealing light whenever should could.

she'd pretend to know what living was. dance to the songs and smile at the princes. lying. knowing they were not convinced. trusting in the music though she couldn't hear it.

drowning in paper cups. painting on frosted windows. stealing life in sobs and hiccups.

the stroke of ambition like the flicker of a dying bulb. the permanence of darkness. a simple directive. the barren of paradise. the promise of damnation.

paths. the empty air releases us. the hunger of the abyss overcomes. gravity always wins. I'm just alone. as i wanted to be. carving the paper into friends. struggling with the scissors. fussing with the threads. dining on the puke of optimists.

sleeping. dead skin soils the sheets. dreaming. thick with the burden of reality.

i was a poet. simple and willing to be lost. but this world hasn't any use for such frivolities. i was alive. thick and red with science of a failing art. but the math overtook me.

there are many ways to die. but few as so slow as this. the whisper of the world in every pore. my powerlessness in every bead of sweat.

she chases the hill. heavy buckets fuel her optimism. she stumbles. their weight too much. their distance impossible to ignore.

ice cream cones melting in her grip. sweet sugar running down her wrist. leaking faucets. dirty dishes in the sink.

she wears the faces of her gods thought they hardly fit. rigid helmets with minimal perceptive.

lost plays ironic. knowing found is selfish. monkeys in their tuxedos. trading stories with predators and poets.

the time machine arose organic. the femoral condition of passive soldiers. the winter came. hard dick penetrating the virgin. content with alone after the stab.

the layers were thin. simple answers to complex questions. since that is what we've always been. skunks on the shoulder. mangled by the rush of traffic. lingering int the intersection.  foul and hungry

the beautiful collision of time and circumstance.

she wears the world. in peaks and stabs. an empty bottle. ripe with windows. that cannot be openend.

the whims of atoms. the hunger of molecules. simple storms. impossible to predict.

softly the world ends. silk wolves and chiffon pigs. play with the stories. tremors and quakes. prudent blood and careless flesh. it's beautiful how close we get and how distant it still remains.

the threat of happiness like flames. louder than it can last.

the gods tell her stories, but she isn't sleepy at all. so she stays awake while evolution whispers in her ear. and atoms split inside her head. burdened with and infected with the past. sick. tables tilted and afflictions resolved. apart. watching the world happen. in a series of dirty needles and torn collars.

tremulous time machines wear the winter in their raspy throats. the prior. the provacateur. stages and strings measure the choke. accuse her legs of treason. fondle the groin of gracious gods. tell their tales in menstruation and rubber cement.

the number. the fence. pantomimes and sobs. throbbing buttons on desperate machines. manipulate the fiction that we call truth. tear the child from the paper. without any colord to spare.

the thunder. the slope. the fiction of touch overcomes. eager dolls drowning in the weight of their plastic skins. the texture. of soiled dresses. the surrender of time. in the gaunt purchase of when. empty swallows hard. dark blunts the dagger.

forgets.

how close we were. how far it is.

tutorials in skin. the slash. the tumble. electric with confession. the climb. the breach of attics. timid and dark. more echo than substance. rockets. and spoons. thick with heroin. soft and hot and eager to surrender.

tiles cracking. the animals absolved to hunger. a deep abyss that drives the wild into the heart of the city.

questions weep like forgotten fountains. choking on wishes. primates in their tuxedos. shitting on maps. places to go. like needles. and the veins that trust their madness.

soft lessons. smother the corners. working the feeble geometry of touch. angles swallow. lines continue searching. in a panic of sober.

salvage the turn. stark echoes in submission. quantum loops and fetid variables. barriers in condition. skin coming undone. the brink. like empty boxes covered in ribbons and bows. the end. a hollow theater. all the actors whispering

chasing the stories. stumble and choke. the disease of want terminal. her soiled pillow sleeps close to her fear. bare terminals tease the electricity from tepid adjacents.

anticipating solid arcs. the conundrum is diffusion. flesh like onion skin. and stabbing eyes eager to trace. time is a mutiny against the individual. life is a fraction best convinced by pebbles and dust. either alone or together we are still and always separate. moments possessed by broader patterns.

layers. arrogant swine. in houses made of brick. taunt the wolf. measure the truth in steps from the edge.

long ago i would name them. curious victims in a relentless collage of murders. the woods. the breadcrumbs. a thin path. convinced it knows us.

she would count. manipulating the molecules. certain she was close enough to god. or far enough away from everything else.

the chase. the mania of the elements. soft fists knock on open doors. hollow rooms. crooked portraits. left in our skin. she tries. in stutters and sobs. the yellow of nervous thighs. the green of disobedience. she tries. with thick lips and open palms. more incident than person.

it always resolves to dying.

the rumble. the thunder of the changing world. she listens, but cannot stand. its guttural lament.

tracing moments in pencil. hoping they'll soon be erased.

pirates of when. assassins of now. tickling the atoms. defying the how.

the path. stilted raindrops find the flower. the broken splitting soil. the feverish cracking dirt. stutters through the universe drowning in waves of black lipstick and shallow verbs.

guillotines and nooses. befriend the monsters with the biggest fangs.

voices like sirens. solve for storms as distant as they are close. the darkness in doses. fragile medicines. a perpetual surplus of almost.

plagues and cures like zippers coming undone. the stern stretch of muscle as it is embraced by the cold. she has too many names. too many faces. blunt sticks in the soil. spoiled sketches. smudged and empty.

tyrants in the skin. whisper their betrayals to deaf gods. draw their treasure maps in piss.

the world is small. a loose button on the groin of the universe. my lie is wasted. i am not. never was. dolls. hollow limbs. frozen fists. clench the void. stand close. clutching paper hands. work the template. the anatomy of lost. missing steps under the threshold of a martyred monster.

telescopes and oceans. a carnival of choices.  the scrape of truth undeniably loud.

watching. cables and wrenches in the winter of her hope. loose and broken. running. in the deep water. a barefoot surrender.  a shallow effort. an impotent rage. 

taken. absorbed. ducts and particles. sick with progress. the stern. the arch. a tumble of skin. trembling like butterfly wings. poised to change the world.

her focus. simple locks. open with a stab. her shadow long. as the sun perforates the sky. little stories. the tepid rhythm of wandering corpses. the cold mercies of decision. tall eyes thick with desperation. pretend to blink. while the world goes blind.

arithmetic. additions and subtraction. the numbers inside her. boil and writhe. the future in paper. kindling at best. the past in flames. we wander. naming the lost. like children. we turn the corner. idling time machines with their dials set to zero. revel in the monsters they helped to create.

the chase. swift madmen blame their voices. strangers inside them. digging out the bones. strengthen the tendons. the candy lies that push us. the tyrant of flesh. that perpetuate this war inside. small despots choking on atoms.

the world glistens. drenched in sweat and chains. this prison gasps. choking on its inmates.

playing with lost. junctions and fuses. resonate from groin to cerebrum. narrow targets and quivering darts. choke the moment into orgasm.

engaging the atom. touch is the needle. time is the thread. focus the lens. distance and definition. wet paper in her fist. smaller still. until everything else is huge.

the smoke. radiant and passive. no flame. only burning. the weep of hunger as it tunnels. digs us out. discarded dolls in soiled clothes.

telling the story. teasing the void. the quiet so strong. impossible encyclopedias of skin.

the universe holds its breath. stubborn. afraid. to want again. curtains on the windows. arguing with the rain. poisoning perspective.

partitions in the universe. choices like bee stings.

the mechanics of skin resolve to fractured engines. drive. wear the distance. in echoes of how far. we are willing to go.

the patron. reluctantly follows. the martyr. eagerly bends. the ghost. callously relives.

all the same. hollow pictures staring. shaking fists. scribbling with inkless pens.

small gods in lavish temples. worshipped and lamented. the end of the world on tour. the tickets all sold out.

the science deceives. arrogantly assuming we are close. the math resolves to x. a thrust of unknowns sick with mercy.

the thief in her skin. steals only what has always been missing.