Tuesday 11/24/2009 01:25:00 AM

The bureaucracy of skin defeats her. Closets full of monsters only she can see are there. The moon is always full. It just hides from us. Chasing shadows on the surface of the sun. As we helplessly wonder when the rain will stop.

There is no winter. No summer. Just places that turn us. Hot and cold. Vague pandorums. Where the empty box waits. For all those evils to return.

I die to the same song every night. Too many times to count. Then I wake up in the morning. Knowing only this loose flesh. And why it's still mine. Vagina's like ticking clocks. Counting down to the alarm. When it won't matter. Penises like pendulums. So many hours that fail to wake me up.

I'm sleeping on the floor next to a shadow of when. The moon used to chase us as we ran. I'm looking behind myself to find it. But it's not there.

The strays on the corner congregate in a clump of dirty nightgowns. Measuring the speed at which the particles must collide in order to remember. Why this ever mattered. Or if it could again.

The burlap on her forehead saving its creases for heavier objects.

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