Friday 7/27/2007 12:50:00 AM

Sloughing down the moment in careful genocides. Death is the subculture. Of all races. Oppressed or otherwise. In slaves we trust. The ethnicity of addiction brought up for questioning. We pale beside our frailties. Broken shoelaces exacting their parade. Clowns with their trousers open. With their red noses in their hands. Watching patiently as the circus continues in their abesnse.

There is nothing. And there is everything. In the hunger of your madness. Like fireflies. Caught in a jar. Still bleeding through the dark. Still waiting to die. Random and unconcerned. with the path that led us here. The doorway takes big strides. I see its progress in the broken teddy bears. I wonder how. When. Or if. Those dolls will turn on us.

Barely vcitims in a ritual of words. The verb. Alive enough. The adjective suggesting.

Everywhere we've stepped. Every lie it took to build this world.

Sorted. Labelled. As such.

Words written in sweat. Erased.

Words fond enough with our medications to provide us our choice of heavens.

Words like murder. More than ready to kill us.

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