Monday 6/10/2024 11:27:00 PM

small machines beneath the flesh dig their tunnels. we measure their capacity in ugly equations. 

we find each other in a frenzy of touch. 

little birds with their wings cut off. bargaining with the wind. 


we wear our identities like stained dresses. the arrogant architects of a false utopia. 

the timeline is corrupt. full of soured kisses and faded promises.
 

we are. we were. we have been. torn smiles under the fractured light of tomorrow's stare. 

the world surges.  an anathema of choices. 


when the small machines eventually fail, we only have the holes that they've dug. 

and what we choose to bury in them. 

Friday 6/07/2024 11:12:00 PM

 the cut did not bleed. it only grinned and asked who would like a taste. 

the map contained no places. only roads to follow. 

the truth wore a tattered mask as we searched for its face. 

the wolves were quiet. as the pigs assembled their houses. 

the thrill lay in waiting on their eventual demise.

her bones were patient. as her skin fell away. 

touch laughed and asked her if she was real. 

she sighed and continued counting strangers.  

her cuts do not bleed. 

but all the scorned contrarians that flesh has created. 

they still see the scars and want a taste. 

eventually, the lights went out. but having spent so long in the dark. 

we could still see everything we'd lost.

Wednesday 6/05/2024 11:36:00 PM

 we knew the crime before it knew us.

flirting with time. its lipstick smearing across our faces. 

wearing our choices like rotting flesh. 


we found the distance in quiet confessions.

selling when. its bandages heavy with our blood. 

the truth exploding in our fists.


dolls with hollow limbs. we tumbled wordlessly.

clutching our broken ladders. as gravity placed its bets. 



eyes closed, we crossed the intersection. eager for that collision. 

all of our villains named. all of our victims unimpressed. 


we stole the words from the pages not yet turned.

scavengers in hero's capes. the story held its breath. 


we saw the edge getting closer.

in spite of our calculations. 

still we kept running.

long after the road had ended. 

Friday 5/31/2024 11:38:00 PM

 let the fever inside. a simple thief. 

dress the corpses. in shiny suits. death is a fickle friend. 

we're only alive in so far as we can defy the end. peddlers of dirty stitches for wounds that refuse to heal. 

our fists full of nothing as we clutch the edge. monkeys in tuxedos made of clay. 

touching the sky with dirty fingernails. searching for reason in empty pages. 

chasing the rats. the lies become a religion. 

the truth is the enemy in an indifferent universe. 

the flesh is sick. an ignorant arbiter of  our limited time. 

the mind is a storybook. overrun with damsels and monsters. 

when there are no answers.. let the blood decide. 

Sunday 5/26/2024 12:04:00 AM

the flesh is spent in jagged confections. sweet and dark like an animal beaten. a long series of small suicides. more curiosity than despair. 

the dolls tug on their strings. suffocating under their heavy dresses. still remembering how wonderful it once was to be only a skeleton. weightless and free. of all this dead skin. 

the thieves don't know what to steal. the monsters are frightened of us. 

our ends precede us. in every sense. 

time decays. a turpentine mistress. against our marriage to yesterday. 

the spiders turn in their webs. caught in their own devices. 

tomorrow scratches on our windows. an orphan climbing a shaky ladder. 

the gondolier swallows the water as his boat parses the waves. his eyes trace the sun. searching for sight in his growing blindness. 

we turn. insolvent conspirators on an unyielding stage. pulling on the masks that have become our faces. 

Wednesday 5/22/2024 11:11:00 PM

 we were listening to the machine. feverish acolytes of all the places it had promised to take us. 

the sting of the rain in our throats as the storm danced across our skin. 

they were tracing the outline of the sun. blinded by our obedience. 

the fervent pantomime of faith stumbling through their words. 

small creatures drowning in flesh that's much too deep. 

they spin on their tails. hapless authors of a fiction they cannot concede. 

the scrape of time poisoning every truth. 

we were listening to the machine. divining its purpose from the smirk of our hypocrisy. 

adamant it could take us home. in spite of the fact that it's never moved. 

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