Sunday 12/22/2013 12:15:00 AM

margins fuss and fiddle over the textures and the friction. the edge rarely speaks. except to say that it's close. wild atoms flaunt their tender nuclei. hungry patterns in a stubborn universe. chase the hollow colors memory uses in  the blanks.

the middle seldom notices. fading footprints. as the weather effortlessly erases us. the trajectory continues. the path simmers. like a tea kettle left to boil. violently we scream for purpose. in a deaf world.

a snicker of choices amongst a roar of conditions. confessing clowns drowning in their masks. curious monsters examining their claws.

no blood. just pieces. a morbid jigsaw puzzle. collecting faces.

gravity in slopes and flurries. the tug of the weather on skin exposed. no rain. just bites of cold. and the hot precision of time's poison.

perhaps it was then. that she knew. the difference between gods and monsters. the full girth of that ample  kingdom where all regrets live.

her paper fingers reach for, but cannot hold. the heavy inks her silence confesses. open doors on frantic rooms. the hysterical math of pussies and penises.

permanent creases in a temporary world.

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