Thursday 2/28/2013 01:06:00 AM

narrow paths absorb the pawns. a shifting leverage of light and dark. the strategy of flesh. the labor of touch. abundant in chokes and stabs. blind animals baring their sharpest grin.

the layers thick with pity and contrition. studious insects burning in piss and shit. all of her faces too small.

the bold charms of reason and hour. meted sorely by monsters within. worn candles push the flame. the moment churns. a contest absent warriors.

quietly, like angle would expect. seizing the plane in curves. the empty math of ambition. leaves her bankrupt.

counting. this empty future ours. matchsticks yet to be burned. fires lsot in concept. her time more science than predator.


a futility of colors. hard like the angle of her distance. soft as the tremble of her fist. a blur of holes. heavy with all that is lost.

Monday 2/25/2013 12:58:00 AM

the hungry hour snarls. spoiled by a rabid continuum. a stumble of reason is betrayed. shallow staples drown in deep wounds. the blood is arrogant. the infection is soft. yet persistent. withered dresses try on people. the auger already deep. in the empty well.

shivering skins shedding ripe skeletons and stale sinew.

the task is survival. the question is how.

seductive villains own the words. we're left with only sound. the choke of carbon biting lungs. the piss of oxygen relieving their thirst. the world folds. quarters. halves. decimals. the self in percentages. moist towels. arbitrating the bruises in parting windows.

a whisper to  the stains. that draw her face in the darkness. a nod to the monsters that steal the colors from so much grey.

anxious animals shout into empty boxes. eventually the tide levels. and they dare to swim again.

Saturday 2/23/2013 12:56:00 AM

a crease in the page. a footprint in her head. dusty maps to long spent treasures. time doesn't have a face. it's eyes are in its back. time doesn't walk or run. it simply finds the edge and jumps.

worn by the dark. or wearing it. a foot stool on the lips of reason. as it chokes on the carcass of choice.  minute lines in the glass spreading slowly toward the margin. stutters in the structure of life erupting in silence and madness.

the smell of tomorrow burnt and tempting like gutted fish. the hunger tree obese with low hanging fruit.

yesterday. the taste of its fever. warm on her lips.

the comfort of sickness. available in all directions.

dead things murmur on the fringes of touch. cold thighs form frozen bridges. empty travelers linger in the void. content to find themselves lost.

Thursday 2/21/2013 01:19:00 AM

paper skin. devours pencil thoughts. an array of methods. terminal. a receptacle of wrong. overflowing. the spoils of darkness. ambivalent to the void. the weight of carbon. a sweet drug that sours fast. the humble of suffocation. in bouts with god. and explorations of heaven.

the monster in pastels. fetches the song. and we listen. deafened by the an overwhelming silence form within. dull pencils draw their pictures. a convenience of touch. desperate for alternatives.

the winter lingers. more addiction than condition. the cold infects. heavy bricks on her measure. ripe animals on the tips of their claws. more frigid than color. as the template begin to break.

Yellow like the kiss of distant lovers. blue like the hunger that follows such encounters. measuring  life by the chase of crippled predators. alive by death's indifference.

a decimal in a madness of skin. chasing the whole. assuming it  remembers.

an hour in the courtesy of skin. pretending to feel. deepening graves.

the spoil of a lantern. the choke of a candle. pressing the darkness to speak.


lying. saying it is the same. knowing it isn't.

running with scissors. one stab at a time. concealing the bomb. in expectations. the parody of when. finds the stage empty. a forfeit of dialogue. heavy with bruises.

Wednesday 2/20/2013 12:46:00 AM

dry paint protests in bouts of alcohol and callouses of nitrogen. the sweep of touch enumerated in barking dogs and infected cunts. we are all pieces. broken bits left behind after the world has come to an end.

the road winces under her footsteps. concrete chains try to give, but only crumble in the effort. wearing the machine, she notices how loose it is. soft and hollow like how she remembers not breathing. clenching her jaw. squeezing closed her lungs. bargaining with instinct. for a moment of death.

the vacant bed reminisces of strangers and lovers. in snickers of humility. all purple with confession. no shame. just wonder. at what might've been. had the sun relented and allowed her blindness sooner.

letters swell and break like the ocean in her head. thoughts drown and swim. amateur gods scribbling destinies in crayon. colors give chase. but the grey is home.

distant soldiers spill their bullets. into enemies unknown. the universe wheezes. having been struck. but hardly injured.

time plays along. a lazy game of hopscotch. with stones culled from her wounds.

fresh scars embrace an audience of vultures.


Monday 2/18/2013 12:37:00 AM

broken dogs. cut the dark. with heavy jaws and impotent barks. the hound is the obvious target. simple of resolve.

the mountains sigh. more weather than discipline. the world we make rebels. the fury of nature and the sting of absent gods. the lopsided arithmetic of lovers and friends.

as if that mud chose the footprint and was not randomly trod upon. the lure of blood diminished. by brighter colors. animals content with blood.

accusing the monsters doesn't suit her. she'd prefer just to let them to their war. would that she were deaf and could not hear. the screech of the bombs and the whisper of wounds.

the distance confounds. burnt matches. press. the abstract of man. focused by his scars.

Friday 2/15/2013 11:24:00 PM

the snake in the crayon hisses colors. chokes on grey. the spider in the song. listens with eight eyes. sees with none. moments spread. the sickness has us convinced it was there from the beginning. 

we don't count the edges. crusts on the blade. we don't name the monsters. they wouldn't answer even if we did.

a fever of atoms. cut with sterno and resolve. vacant flames whittle the darkness down to bent arrows and pleated hearts.  a vast paper kingdom drowning in ink.

clay castles wear the rain. in comely grins. time twists, but never bends. empty robes flaunt the invisible emperor. temples of skin dense with sinew. the taste is a reflex. the swallow is a villain. the woods are everywhere. filled with witches.

simple candy houses that stroke the sun. in a long series of molested moments. grey gods with their hands in their pockets. assuming they have purchase.

on what has no price.

reason would let her die. passion would insist she live.

the numbers inbetween are anyone's guess.

the atoms expire in a maze of cunt and tits. the vacant beauty of breath. overcomes. ardent pieces surrender to division.

Wednesday 2/13/2013 01:55:00 AM

chalk eyes and blackboard lips. waiting for the world to end. in breadboxes and melted chocolates. the power went out and we scorned the trembling darkness. made it feel small. entertained ourselves watching it weep.

wait for us. we are slow. though the world is swift. telling stories in the interim. as if time is only still a child. thick with peanut butter and piss. an equation solved by simple division.

wait for us. let the words catch up. weak predators on the thigh of the moon. arranging the bones and vomit. the clouds heavy on their backs.

she wakes. again and again. inside the mania of trying to be someone. or failing that. something to to someone else.

heavy ladels. hot with the parity of truth. dissonant drugs. fetching paradise from excrement. choices. like bleating engines and stricken machines. condemned to the moment of ignition.

wizened narrators with broken tongues. the feeble chaos that would pretend loyalty. beautiful stories drenched in blood.

soft fists against the glass. not echoing.

Tuesday 2/12/2013 01:29:00 AM

the world ends in different ways for different people. for some just the once. for others again and again. it's almost funny how i managed to live so many years of my life believing it hadn't already ended years ago.


this life is strange to me. a heavy blanket full of holes. i both shiver and sweat. i am simultaneously smothered and naked.

there is no need for poets anymore because the world isn't changing. does not desire to do so. humanity has stagnated. change, nor even its blind cousin dissidence, are not welcome. mediocrity won the war a few decades passed.

being different is a beautiful experience when one is young, but it quickly gets ugly with age.

society needs judges. purveyors of art and song. but they are all dead or otherwise discarded. i'm not crazy. just useless. the world is constantly ending and beginning again. a cterminal infant. it never matures. 

sometimes i'll get high and entertain fantasies of impact. that this solitary talent which i possess will have its voice heard. and actually matter in some meaningful way.

but the world is loud and bright. and i am quiet and dark. i've tried to change. or more, have tried to pretend that i can. let the neon swallow my bones and held my breath under the din of voices. until the panic overcame and i grabbed for air.

nevertheless, i still suffocate.

and why should i change as it were. be anything other than what i have always been. should this world not have a place for me, is it not my right to find it elsewhere?

still the courage is yet to be found in myself or these words.

thoughts are uneven ghosts. intent is struggling flames.

living. poetry. even dying. each demand a voice. but this silence is all that i own.

those stones are much too heavy. there's no changing the world anymore. i'm only the child of my disease. more straw than brick. i'm only trying to determine why it is i woke up alive this morning. when everything else was already dead.

Monday 2/11/2013 01:15:00 AM

the muscle. the bone. this homogenous epiteth of labor. more sex than skin. a plateau of poisons. each one weaker than the last. the curdling storm collapses upon the land. sour winds whisper hungry words upon starving breath.

wind and warts and gelid vengeance. a feast of resentment nourishes the unfed.

timid like the first flame before it had a chance to burn. loud now. a searing prison of escape and fetid ambilvalence.

the theater of her skin. poets and madmen. in a war neither can win. the ransom her will. paid in full. quite worthless.

the strays. the feral orphans of battle. dress and humility stipulated. the weather. the blizzards. outside and within. parallel. a cold world. ripe with ends.

simple gods flaunt their menial effects. love, hope and happines. and other such dismal miracles. impotent saviors. bleed their worth. in enduring fictions.

Sunday 2/10/2013 01:29:00 AM

laments the scream. in virulent obsessions. quixotic and sore. with flaking skin and bitten lips. the gentle stab of touch. unravelling in sweat and piss. trembling numbers spoil the division. corrupt the scab.

she wonders what apocalypse could be compared to this. a soft fart in a sea of shit.

summers. the simple mongrels touch would confess. burglars stiff with the broken glass.

winters. the nervous monsters unnamed. thieves pale with faces splintered by the task.

in the glower of autumns chasing time. the numbers brace for flowing blood. animals thick with math. turn the stones in empty graves. a chase of  flesh. a panic of numbers. pebbles to stones. in a series of surrenders.

she wakes to the beast. the simple cotton of muscle and bone. wears her thighs. stretches her eyes. dull needles sew with fraying thread. heroes in loose frocks and empty pcokets. hurry home.

Saturday 2/09/2013 01:31:00 AM

the machine chokes to life. gasping for movement amongst the vast corruption of art. the tempting delusion that this ache is something greater than simple weakness.

the numbers truss her. legs in the air. a fever of science easily extinguished by the consent of colors.

time travels quickly. urgent in its plight. time travels through us. long needles steeped in failing poisons.

the world arrives in stumbles. tripping over itself to know her. heavy robes with loose sashes. and the petulant naked they are want to expose.

she's quite content with the ugly. as far as appearances are given to go. forks in the pudding. spoons in the meat. maybe we went too far. just because we were able to. or it might be that we never even came close.

skin evolves. in howls and surrenders. the patterns of broken skin. own the blood.

time travels as it always does. disregarding. the stubborn of speech. the dowry of touch. its intrepid machine. heavy with numbers. arrogant equations. more kindling than flint.

there is no test. no grim confessor. only the monsters already made.

the dry match that strikes the impotent flame. the heavy turbine that swallows the years.

the frayed hem of her dress. indicating where she's knelt.

Thursday 2/07/2013 01:04:00 AM

poison breaths boast the world. in flat sticks and deep bruises. limber of heart and rigid of soul. distance chases with wagging tongue and heaving chest. consumed with killing. she has her numbers. postured and poised. as all ghosts tend to be. arrogant  with the science of darkness.

how rich is the void. that the prey can linger. hardly hunted.

fraying voices. threaded lips. all the words stitched together. empty needles favor the bark of doubt. she pivots on her crippled moments. dancing with her hand over her mouth. and her eyes barely in her head. a strategy of mania. more surrender than resolve.

fumbling to hasten death. in weak pin pricks and pierced plastic bags. she finds the fever hidden in mirrors and solvents. mouth agape. lungs receptive. to any and all willing toxins.

she'll die today if she gets her wish.

Monday 2/04/2013 12:47:00 AM

patterns soft to resolve. ugly seams in long dresses. time bleeds and we are born. pale infections in the open flesh of massive beasts. we are the pus that makes November wince. we are the germ that befouls April's kiss. we are disease. in its most basic form. futile. resistant. stubborn. petulant. small of individual. plentiful of horde.

when i talk to her she is always pink. bloated labia throb like twice licked lollipops. when i talk to her she is still young. pressing the button on that machine of hers. that carves the future from these hollow corpses.

the moment listens for the whisper of conceding gods. an apple in the mouth of the pig. just as the flames begin to take shape.

the shelf pretends. the rim of the world purses its lips. as if to spit us out. bitter nipples in a sea of sweet tits. the solvent sting of gasoline. digging out the oxygen. until only the shadows are left. stitches. surrender's small needles are so bold as to confront the vein.

seams in the man struggle to stay together. threads in the woman hurry to come undone. the beast whimpers. On the precipice of her thighs. humbled by their depths.

a cloud of mortals drowned in a confusion of touch. a choke of poison to make me strong. another to purchase death. her laugh like small souvenirs. from games long since lost.

we still play. but no longer keep score.

Saturday 2/02/2013 01:09:00 AM

this is my corpse. my whole life the funeral. this is my death. excrutiatingly slow.

worshipping the void. seduced by the choke. a stutter of skin. teases the naked bones. but this is a grave. leaving is all it knows.

this is my lie. that it could be anything other than what is. that i could wear their clothes and their faces and convince them i am the same.

crippled beasts snarling at the fire. so terrified of freezing that they welcome the burn.

that persistent assault of strangers. that arrives at every breath. constantly gnawing away at what of my flesh remains.

this moment is my corpse. temptations in broken skeletons. artists's charcoal to draw the lips. black words to dilute the monster's piss.. this life is the soil that builds my tomb. trembling kings bathed in shit. this is my corpse. these are the worms that devour it.

hungry dogs chewing on their mother's cunt.

quiet wars confess in conjuctions of blood. lost surprises with diseases not strong enough. dying is a lonely process. of forgetting who you are.

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