Friday 3/13/2015 12:05:00 AM

it's cold here inside my skin.

dim parables exploit the flesh. obvious crises foul the buttons.

these arrogant machines. more superstition than science. these heavy bones. like a pendulum of trust.

all this empty space. its silence echoing. bald fractions devour the math of lovers and friends. the decimal confesses. the portions deflate.

the future came and went. while we were busy with the script.

ice cubes in the glass. melting situations. paper protagnists. in the wet stories of men and women. the slope of touch. like spoiled medicines. the promise of disease as it shapes us.

all blunt needles and frayed threads. the preposterous plague of hope. as it stumbles. spreading its infection.

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