words like small incisions. open the scabs. manipulate the wounds. hungry dolls struggle with their plastic tongues. smothered in the autonomy of skin. lost butterflies on the wings of a sneeze. it's always changing. the everything and the nothing. and the space between them. the winter and the summer. and the eternity that separates this moment and the next one.

i thought he was lonely, but i was wrong. a wolf in a soft bed. no needles. just the nightmares. sketches in the darkness.  broken chairs at empty tables. and dead things following too loud.

the icicle melting. drip by drip. as the weather insists to devour. the chill. the sealed box. arrogant with uncertainty. the simple science of tomrrow. like lipstick on corpses.

never there. but always close. the weight of gods thickening her dreams. different. the same. her truth evolving. like heroin to hungry veins.

the primer. the insidious machine. thumping and scraping at the walls between. then and now. the engine. the rabid dog. growling and biting for a taste. beyond the source. fickle atoms and so many instances of us. a prism of choices. this life refracted. in every color.

the theory of the machine. the proof of the ghost in it. every lie telling us.

a pageant of flesh. the quiet solving. in burns and cuts. no stairs to climb. nor corridors to travel. only clay fingers unable to hold. and concrete toes. and vinegar tears. a lonely entrance. wide open. with no one there.

years later she confessed he had dominated her. I nodded and pretended to be shocked. she was soft in hte middle and hard at the edges. like a whore's bed. she was alone. her voice small and defiant.

she lay there. like a puzzle too easy to solve.

and i lost interest.

her storeis hollow. her questions hard. like an idling time machine. hungry for the science that creates us. these trembling moments. more risk than reward. thundre without rain.

the seldom. the rain on the glass. like bloody tongues. and broken teeth. no meat. just cuts in the flesh. spoiling in fits of when. abundance never knew. how far we've come.

dilligent monsters. chase the gaps. time travels her. in its shaking machines. arrogant demons draw their maps. no treasure. just the holes we've dug .

layers. fits of skin. interrogating. hours. minutes. years. the heavy basket. full of nothing. that led us into these woods. and trembling wolves. in chokes of grandma. With further fists. furious with science of memory. and how easy it is to forget. the future is always a whisper. tomorrow is always deaf.

we just watch. pretending to understand. as the words fall out. in forgein languges.

the simple lies that truth insists. as life presses deeper with its blind infection. the sickness is the apogee. the wound is the orbit. rumors of god. tame the monkeys.

the colors roar. the engine sobs. time negotiates in piss and blood. meat and bone betrays. only the words survive

wet scars draw their pictures in open wounds. determined to change us .

loose skins coax the breeze. the storms are on their way. be patient. you'll die again. in your heavy pajamas with the seams all crooked. in your sunken bed with the sheets all wrinkled. in your hollow dreams with the muted villains. and the wounds that never bleed.

her quiet story is louder than it seems. her January has its reasons. days bargain softly with the edge of the world. life boasts its turpentine. seldom autumns solve for suicide.

smothering the cold in fits of skin. an hysteria of choices. living the needles. awkward seams chase the origins. nameless ghosts and shrinking heavens. pound the walls.

 confounded foxes. tease the hounds.

her quiet triumph wins her no prizes. the hunt goes on.

her thighs like blackjack. her nervous lips. chapped with fragments of when.

 stubborn time machines laughing out loud.

empty dreams spoil her sleep. she lingers in the ether between worlds. shedding the heavy char of life.

a weak fire in the shuffles the future and misdeals.

the pattern is soft. tempted kittens struggle to control their claws. chasing the weather. in tremors and apologies. simple courtesies too sharp for skin. bitter authors on their last chapters. shy devils bargain with the flames. for small fragments of heaven.

a deep chasm listens to the music and then it is lost.

walking on the grass. moist with the new day's tears. the edge of the world in pencil. let's her erase. but not forget. earnest aliens. their broke antennae.play with perspective. how close far away is.

the dillgent lover. the stumbling shadow. the relentless hunger game of the human condition.

how we measure distance in drops of blood.

the fist in the stone. time's mongrels hunt and wail. the bridges flutter. the tunnel vomits. where we go is who we are. vexed by the land upon which we travel. thieves surrounded by paupers.

the telemetry of her autumn is soft and sloping. the colors change. nothing else. the years are fickle lovers. more bargain than bone.

stuttering armies of flesh and words. empty their guns into knotted veins. electric scars and stubborn needles. more sickness than cure. her gentle scarecrows weeping. as the scavengers catch on.

knuckles to the turbines of the machine. the twisting gears. the thundering deceit. the science betrays. as she slips out of her skin.

the hour runs with choking thieves.

chasing reluctant heroes.

tremors in the void. wear her well enough. solvent conditions. tempted by the idle. casual encounters with a softer finish.

the night coughs. sicker still. with concrete cunts and broken cocks. the world is the same as her eyes. open wide, seeing nothing.

want compels the tiniest fibers and the biggest beasts. little pieces of glass tainting every step.

watching. as the dark is given to do. a focused confusion. an accordion of skin. breathes us out. swallowing the remains.

the process assumes the product. the future bleeds out of the past. little hammers in the choke of her fist.  blunt pens in the scar tissue. paint their scabs.

travelling quietly. through a shrinking world.

running on broken glass.

solves the math. for numbers yet unknown. strong figures roil in the huff of gravity's sickness. lions nuzzle their lambs. with polished fangs. turns the tyranny. augers twisting through bone. all this rage is a byproduct. of quiet murders.

her stories run ahead. nimble children not yet burdened. her words frolic and scamper. graceless orphans. peddling bent matchsticks. and pockets of darkness. where freedom boasts a darker spectrum. petting each predator.

sticks and stones pretend an army. though her war is long since lost.

she travels down. willingly. into the abyss. curious more than anything. about the species of monsters.

sorting atoms. fiddling with the end. a portrait. no colors. just blank canvas. waiting to be shit upon.

the hour trembles. more science than flesh. soft dolls flaunt their knotted asses. a puzzle of lust. a lottery of strangers. no winners.

the balance shifts again. back to circumstance and habits.

blunt crayons pressing. claiming empty outlines.

caution the stones. louder still. solves the darkness. in fits of silence. the edge approaches. charmingly close. the moment scratches. the future stabs. gravity swallows each in turn.

her words yellower still. fermenting. a quantum chaos. we are undone by both our future and our past. it's always changing. now is all we have.

screams and malice in piss and rainbows. open bridges teasing the ocean.

the simple lies that always become truth. like monkeys reciting bible quotes. to antagonize Darwin's ghost.

easy puzzles on the cusp of her skin. bare their solutions in quivering tones. alive decides her as each momemt confronts. a jigsaw of logic with edges made of flesh.

her hurried math mistakes invitation for commitment. her ugly experminent mangles the maze. lost again. among familiar walls. same journey. different path.

bent blades search for true. the anatomy of decision drowns us in more tendons than bones. the suffering sky. bleeds. singing blood from every hole. stalling monsters with useless sticks and stones.

the antipathy. counting backward. the puzzle of humanity. time and all its mischievous cousins. bet our passions against our weakness. and seldom lose.

blind epiphanies wear the wind. She sees in numbers. She breathes in atoms. Everything broken. or waiting to be fixed. a shit of gods. A piss of lovers. to prove the words have betrayed.

the softer darkness lets her in. an hysteria of conditions. the least of which is if. careless gods blame the mountain for their falls.

it's only time. scarce moments have their names for us.

the waiting consumes. whores, thieves and scientists.

the end surfaces in a wormhole. sharp against parting flesh. all futures promised to other destinies.

Cohesion lingers as a single tiny knot in infinite lengths of chaos. We are painfully small. It's not science at all. It's inappropriate flesh. Smothering violence. Sallow hunger. Brilliant madness. And the devastating worlds they construct within.

yellow bridges stab the dark. digging roads through the drowning. the grey suits us. stirred by the moonlight. to quieter wars.

broad soldiers boast their atoms. the brutal science of division. and the lost.

we are only young when we are in love.

want blossoming in purple and blue. swelling bruises tighten the skin. on mangled bones. at first, this small world makes us big. later we discover how easily we fit inside it.

dying comes in the pinches of cocks and the shudder of intoxicants. god lives in the piss of cocaine and the vomit of heroin. anywhere else he is only a visitor.

all the songs lament the same. wanting more.

her voice pencil marks. the silence ink. suicide is a long process. of learning how to want. crumbling corners discover dying in all kinds of places.

the poison is rarely what kills. though it's taken every day. it's happiness that talks her off that ledge.

small boxes stew in the shadows. as hollow as they are. there's something inside them.

the end comes in whispers. everything else screams. but it's the angles that are often overlooked. they change the distance. they wrinkle the map in places no one can see.

it rains when she listens. it snows when she weeps. everything is her. yet she is nothing.

it's only ugly because they say it is. bruises in the bridge. and so much ocean to cross. drowning in the cold math of touch. she doesn't come up for air.

we live for seconds. we die for years.