Wednesday 2/18/2009 12:16:00 AM

Post the patterns in vagrant outlines. Grey clowns with their pants down and their red noses in their hands. Break the crayon in half and tear the page from the spine. There's no one there.

Tell the drummer boy he's no longer needed. No one dances. Nothing moves at all.

Just the insects in her head searching for their larva.

I can't tell time at all. It always looks like an enemy. Until I press the button. The machine wakes up and I am debating with imaginary gods again. Yelling at the window. For having tricked the sky. Into believing it is above us.

The egos of petty gods. Spoiling the glass. With men dressed as angels.

After too many coffees and even more broken switches. I finally find myself, but she doesn't listen. When I tell her they're already gone.

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