an alphabet of thunder. a template of rain. translating the howls of the wind. all the words are heavier than I can lift.

the satisfaction of division. moments solved for x. a wealth of nothing. open windows to the waves. salt and ocean like proverbs with broken zippers. the burden of multiplication. purrs like kittens. about to be drowned.

the angle passes. refracted and absorbed. quiet predators. more blood than oxygen. blithe catalysts. perpetrate vacant storms. the muscle contracts. the bell is rung. the mountain is climbed, but hardly conquered. her breath spreads like dripping blood. spilling. staining. every choice.

the stubborn machine. the hungry motor. selfish kings. flaunt their empty robes. loud enough for time to listen. tepid pauses in the witch's cauldron. forget the walls between touch and skin.

patterns confess. ample hysteria. wear the child in slits and pebbles. she chases the sidewalk. in fervent tremors. blue razors drowning in red.

an ulcer of patterns. confesses the puzzle.

the weather rages. hungry music. and loud guns. tempt the solution.

the telepathy of skin. chews the image from the bone. lighter fluid infused cigarettes. coax the predator from the grass. left turns into heavy traffic.

the hours idly consent. to letting us wait. to allowing our surrender.

vacant terminals receive and transmit. the anatomy of touch. ragged maps possessed with destinations. nameless roads lead us.

time's gloating machine. gnaws and pokes. as addicts beg and leaders wither. just a taste. a temporary desert. constantly growing.

the missing moon. the gloating stars. the stumbling Earth. all characters in a desperate fable.

obvious villains.

seldom serpents manifest. a thunder of dark. tepid fangs scorn the lips. blood like flower petals. blossoms from open flesh. waiting. travelling through the pause. in stabs of conceit. backwards through time. on soft crutches and hard choices.

the hollow chamber of her grasp. the dense apparatus between her legs. the vulgar portals of all things human. swift concessions sell the song. of wet panties and soiled dresses. counting out loud. piercing each number with a grin. worn. discarded. confident monsters lurking under her bed.

so much over. taut labors curdle the charade. giants stride the marathon and tumble. next to nothing. time undresses. intent on being seduced. but all my roses are rotted. all my ironies in use.

maybe sunday was all she could threaten. as the ghosts began to stir. bone on bone. a pantomime of skin. more color than condition. sweating laboorers lost in a machine without a skeleton.

purple gods sweat impotent piss. shy flowers blossom by the virtue of their shit. small worlds in vast cages. the epiphany of language is a treason. every word is a jailer.

the darkness simmers. screeching kettles. left unattended. the darkness withers. discarded costumes. thick with molted skins.

arrogant doorways leading to empty rooms.

red dreams tell her. in a chaos of skin. in a hiss of of touch. the slender fingers of time manipulate the hour. negotiate with the heavens. stealing beginnings from too many ends.

the soft strangers that dent transmission. tender crayons drowning in the colors. blind artists trying to remember.


her skin is a song. that whispers loudly.

numbers. math. the transient parable. short sticks. long tunnels. expansion concedes. gravity wins. a lopsided division of labor. the strongest forces of physics defeated. the weakest dominating. losing to the simple.

struck by the shutter principle. no light. no windows. cannot see.

solvent sternums broach the oxygen. we breathe. arrogant with atmosphere. assuming it is ours to keep. tepid dragons swallow sword.

miles like rape victims. spread their legs and let us go too deep.

the manner evolves as much as the moment does. slender threads chase the needle's arc. searching for soft peaks in a landscape that is always hard. righting the stories. both in grammar and in cost. the tepid mortgages of skin defaulted.

some distance is to be expected. the universe being as large as it is.

time. intimate buttons press the machine forward. the staircase chokes. on the vacuous assembly of faces. the ladder. swelling rungs. ache for measure. in a frenzy of scales.

shuttered windows at the intersection. where doorways bark and time is bitten. beautiful strays seduced by our garbage.

quiet monsters try on our empty skins. a better fit. a swollen precision.

she takes comfort in her broken gods. as powerless as they are.

it's always sharp.

Girl sits in a dark room tapping on a keyboard.

I'm changing the world. My words matter. Can't you see that Mother? Of course not. Because it isn't true at all. I'm static. Lost in the space between movement and touch.

I'm your daughter. As useless as you wanted me to be. I'm his child. moody. I'm his sister. Shy. quiet. Their friend. Fat. Ugly. Every one's punchline. I am voice. With an eternity to scream.

Girl sips from a bottle of beer in a dark room.

I'm a poet. The world no longer has any use for us. We bleed and fart all over it as if it doesn't matter. Because it doesn't. It's nothing. This being alive is nothing but a burden.

Girl twirls her hair listening to music.

If only I had the courage. The strength. To finally finish this farce. People like to say living is brave. But people are liars and cowards. It's dying that's hard. Staying alive is as simple as doing nothing.

Girl masturbates. Girl watches television. Crawling backward through time via the fiction. The hatches it has marked in her life. She was then. Now she isn't. A balloon light with helium. Compelled to destruction.

The story tells her. Though she wishes to tell it. The curtain opens. The stage is empty. The voice exhausted.

Girl types in the dark. Saying nothing.

twelve atoms on their edge. tilt the molecule in another direction. solvency walks slowly in tight pants. one more or one less and everything changes. scuffed heels and skinned knees. the formula for living. one hour succumbs to one minute. and we are gone again.

chemicals defer to the catalyst. bloody noses and honeyed crotches. everything occurs in the reaction. means meeting ends. limbless soldiers with their guns between their lips.

pressed pages scream. mucous and semen. hungry ogres moan. phlegm and defeat. good liars having exhausted all their truths.

faces. onion skin and pencil stabs. chasing echoes. moments. needles without thread. sewing massive holes.

plastic nooses wear throats like jewels. slow motion bullets scrape. peel. push. until grey is all there is. numbers sweet with arithmetic. travellers in the bones. soured by science. destinations interrupted.

just twelve atoms teasing gravity. one molecule displaced. tightens the rope.

giraffes in high heels flaunt their wares. telling stories about the tall fruit. and doing blow jobs with their teeth. mundane. the atoms laugh. compelled to stay together, though separation is what they crave.

the darkness ripples through her. lazy surges of electricity. dull like drugs. sharp like cravings.

she blinks and it's done. she's lived and died in an instant. she blinks. and it has happened again. blind despots with their fingers on the button to end the world. monkeys too busy editing the pages to notice what the insects have written.

the colors tell her. in bleak epiphanies of impatient flesh. eggs to be broken. shells to be emptied. a marathon of frequencies soliciting the dead.

awoken by her garden. the tremble of chemistry. as it mixes strangers and friends.

elephants in evening gowns seduce the science. no words. just torn threads chasing gravity. atoms imagining there is a bottom to hit.

the confession. candy houses to chew on. children with witches to burn. veins oblidging the poison. a warm sleep thick with monsters. the story. soft like gelatin and red meat. the lazy physics of touch. inevitably forgets. how close we were.

daring porcupine wipes his tears with pointed hands. amber tiger fangs chew the knots in pelvis of night. blank caramel between her thighs. giggles and whispers. apes and soldiers. cross and loud with the radio cast. clay guns telling stories in empty fields.

a tempest of strangers. pieces of skin. like rifles and ammunition. the numbers humble. the needle urgent. as the seams make their decisions.

goats in red capes. chewing on the curtain. the story that wants to happen. the words that struggle to be told. she wakes the rabbit. to ask it about the proximity of the finish line.

simple marathons. that run us. while we wait for something to move. measuring the miles in sweat and thirst. and the hysterics of running. collars on the necks of gods. stiff with choices. or the illusions that pass for them.

temporary cuts in permanent wrists. no blood. just a deficit of courage in the seldom of depression. quiet lies build their frictions. smooth stone. jagged sticks. gamble the time machine. impotent wolves discard the fiction.

when we were small. it all looked so big.

Bark louder. Now softer. Change your song. Whet your fangs. Meat is anxious. The cellar is stiff with dead things and dinner. Truth and plump lips touch below the grime in the secret arithmetic of time. The kind of toxic inspiration that certain lives require.

Keep grey the cellophane documents of touch. Nervous catapults on their last war. Stabbing the silence with bent blades. Carving the path with burnt matchsticks. Let spill the empty gallows. Narrow intersections ugly with traffic. Steal the storm from the gods. And are overcome by it.

Race quietly in burgundy forests. Tall with sickness. A ceiling of want erases the sky. Makes us big. Makes us small.

Eyes like sunburn. Words lile gangrene.

Pluck the fog. Strings seep toward the sun. In a murder of choices. Stones in the belly. Razors in the head. Barking a path from here to then.

Matter divisible and swiftly accused. Meat on the floor. Shit in the corner. The window open. The door closed.

expenditures of skin. weak against the the mercy of time's solvents. the gravel in her throat. tempts him to listen. as the words crawl toward the surface. the lead in her hips. begs him to go slower. as she flirts with the finish. curious marathons of sex and disdain. fill in the spaces. between gravity and acceleration.

the muscle fidgets with the strain. tears and stretches like elastic screams. a humble of wolves search for their fangs. a whisper of right in a shout of everything else. going toward. running away. similar, but different. 

wearing the numbers. soft clouds sell us their rain. in tempting bargains of death. the chemistry of strangers. needles taming the wrists. in cuts and stones. monsters solving for closets. storms all thunder and wind.

a desert of darkness. expanding beneath the surface.

one ogre growls with the veins in his fist. another sobs with the knife. still working out the arithmetic.

thousandths. decimals like lips. whispering the words. almost a reason. or a chance to take. almost. eventually. time dilates and we can see ourselves in the darkness. pictures taken. pixels used. on empty portraits.

That girl with her dress on backwards. With her panties in her fist. I used to be her.

That timid hitchkiker with all her rage in her back pocket. going places just to get there. Time like music in her head. A concert of choices. Heavy with consequence. Three bears, maybe less. One tale told countless times.

The punctuation in her skin. She is a malestrom of commas and apostrophes. The nouns. the verbs. The adjectives. flaunt their stories. Dead men with their eyes wide open.

A barter of weaknesses. like gravity. how it softly it keeps. both feathers and the stones. pale like the gun. nervous like the trigger. all those variables inbetween like broken time machines. shuffling their bullets.

try. waste. green. hard. empty. face. saliva cunts on wet billboards. dance with the rain. poker shit cocks in soiled neckties. sell our lives to us. in milligrams and dosages. the rabbit limps on three feet. the fourth rots in our pocket.

the room goes dark. little fires gnaw at the seams in the world.

cold. scream. hot. crawl. soft. hollow. arms. piss faces in spoiled carcasses. sweat the hours. shit the days. in fervent condoms. and stagnant murders. selling us the world in blades and bullets. so many cages big enough to make us believe we are not in prison.

the arbiter wheezes. the halo chokes. Time is the orbit. Life is the apogee. Lenses wink. Shutter bluff. The stage comes to the actors. Dialogue like nooses. Means to save us. Or change. Or laugh. At how much we stay the same.

the bricks. the mold. seams between worlds as they separate. piecemeal monsters negotiate time. feigning power. in a whisper of desperation. putting the worm on the hook. shouting. convinced that someone will hear. what's never been said.

A meeting place. An offer of destruction. The consumption of fire. Swallows from the center. The earnest soil. The fickle water. Conspire to make us choose. Need or want.

Her voice in stones. Smooth and opaque. Like cannibals reciting poetry. The treaty. Her confession mars the victory. The war chokes awake. In puzzled nightmares thick with semen.

The numbers tell their stories. Mad tortoises in lingering races. The tide clutches the sand. More salesman than artist. Leveraging the damage against a lottery of skin.

Pockets in the Earth. A funeral of kings. A panic of princes.

Colors left and hours forged. The simple weapon of choice. The obvious execution of thought. Simple enough to envy. Complex enough to hate.

Distance decides. Everything is small.

hate. dick. overdose. in that order.

fuck. stumble. kiss. forward and by division. the numbers smaller than she antcipated. history in echoes. muted stabs. more scream than blood. and the deafness that accompanies such grave choices.

red strikes the side. blue chafes the thumb. worn buttons on the bomb. destruction is only a lesson farther.

slow commotion. dances in chaos. tepid saviors. spill from the lost. blue pens. ardent embassadors. flaunt the beautiful wreckage.

trials. fluttering suicides hesitate under the bulb. judgement names her. a witness.

knife. pit. pendulum. the stories worm their way through the flesh. cuts. tears. epidemics. set the price of survival.

the drug fades. reality persists. gods set their prices. people pay them.

arms tremble wickedly with potential futures. kittens in a barrel. eager to be drowned. subtle monsters cahnges us. for better or worse is anyone's guess. the sun pretends to shine. all through the winter. though it remains dark outside.

proctors and surrogates peddles their stories to wishing wells long since dried up. moments displaced. the physics of humanity. more theory than evidence. a slave to the whims of time. a rat in the mazes of its scars.

sleep whispers. a fairy tale of abandomed children and the witches that would consume them. forsaking the words for stronger drugs. torn maps acting the architect to desolate worlds. reluctamt barters between panties and cunt.

the height of the wave. a shadowy parable of when. the tempest of time. attempting to be linear. when lost in so many circles.

she could almost change them. manipulate the conditions to fit the constraints of panic. coy brusies. tease the ache. flaunt their portraits on an empty canvas.

the art is in the disease. the submission to the sickness.

pirates and players. the friends we seldom call. choices. nooses. peter rabbits. gathering their broken eggs and fetid chocolates.

right the dream. steer the corpses. the roads trip over each other. the intersections pool with poets and madmen. hungry as always. content with empty. obliged to the chase. as futile as it is.

ink peddles its pictures. in fervent assaults. the universe is an infant. head crowning. slowly being expelled from the vagina of decisions.

no words. only waiting. worn crayons sinking into the grey. drowning. the expectation of rescue.

simple soldiers count their bullets. as the battle field narrows. one war to assemble the pieces. another one to dismantle the dead.

yellow like seldom. big wolves in grandmother's nightgown. picnic under the covers. red like empty baskets and the bricks that come tumbling down.

the simple chemistry of coalescence. that compels us. to bond.

ours to take apart.

tremors and syringes. draw their portraits. the art of dying is delicate and angular. a quiet cloud surrounded by raging storms. tomorrow fusses over the details.

impotent confessions. of liars. pocket knives in the pupils of gods.

there is no addiction. no mercy mild enough. to quell this madness.

the end. throats raw with jagged words. eyes broken.

the beginning. fingers sore on the trigger.

little cuts. burrowing deeper. hollowing out the shell.

stutters of skin. ample rages. white hooks in red meat. parasites finding the bone. it's done. paper plates absorb the blood. another year. another opportunity for loss.

beautiful girls with their arms in knots. powerless. their thighs trembling. the color of her shame. a small infection. rapidly spreading.

her eyes like playing cards. a gamble of moments.

dripping iciciles. tethered dogs. the end is weak. strangling under the haunt of freedom.

the beginning is merciless.