Sunday 4/19/2009 12:43:00 AM

Addressing the calm. In reluctant proliferation's. The gods dance down from the sky. Tiny births. Gaping pussies. Sure enough. The marker was permanent. I scribbled something thoughtless. Content that thoughtless was all I owed him.

She was busy. Removing the arms from the dolls. She was watching them try to walk. On their soft legs. Obsessed with molding the moment. To fit the soft earth. That betrayed her progress.

There is now. There is the trial. Skin on skin. Creating an infinite negative. There is then. The appeal of sour fruit. Lonesome bandits raid the heart.

There is the bulb. The small switch. That stretches around the ass the of the sun. The professor in his too round glasses. Calculating us. The Tense. The grammar of when. We were those people. Bound to the comas. Confident. In the words. That had taken us there.

That she could bleed that much. Without anyone noticing.

The flaws in time travel suddenly obvious.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.