Wednesday 6/02/2010 01:54:00 AM

Measuring the clouds in rips of construction paper. She has her paste at the ready. Her scissors not withstanding. As the future expires in broiling apathies. She wipes her hands on her foul apron. And begins to assemble the collage.

Corpses and molars collide. In a kaleidoscope. I can close my eyes and see the future in fading colors. As if it is all one thread. And someone is running away with it. I give in and try on these stubborn vessels. Obvious time machines throwing their quills. And I am stuck.

Grateful to have discovered a new poison.

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