Thursday 7/05/2007 12:37:00 AM

When it rains. When I start to answer questions they've never asked. I begin to think of sex. One grand explosion of pleasure. And then we die. Or are put out like a used up cigarette. Sucked dry of all the disease inside us. Sad because they've gotten over our infection. Or were always immune to it.

When there's time. If there ever is. I'll explain. How this tide escaped the pull of the moon. How to properly love someone who's never loved you.

Broken needles in the fake fur on the arm of the teddy bear. The only drug hopelessness. Torn pantyhose concealing the scars on the legs of the bed. Memory painting my naked toes in the semen of used condoms.

When it rains. When people celebrate who they think they've become. I bite my nails. Teeth like a machine gun. And try to convince myself It's true. That the louder they say it the less true it is.

In the aftermath of these fireworks there is an independence. But not the kind I wanted.

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