November 15, 2006


Buried in parcels encased by moist, membranous stuff is the angle of the sun warmer than early risers.

My mother walked stiffly in a ski suit leaving 118 lb. footprints when she was twenty one. She had my arms and cried a Cherry Blossom Queen.

Dad ran the committee.

Crepe paper hovers above the mud. Fuck it, I flamed virginity at 12, although as much a nail biter.

Q: How do you fit additional fags into a crowded bar?
A: Turn the barstools upside down.

While I have something exterior to protect, who will it be? Tumbling down a pit into the arms of Pluto. A brown ring of tooth marks, on display in a decorative planter.

Belief in people's sincerity is a fountain basin, or the angel has not yet been swallowed.

My particular gender pulls at the meat of my face, stretching, unsettled beneath a reflection veiled by floaters. Under a gun I will admit all, I'm safe, I'll sign anything put before me.

Something, something up for undifferentiation. A battle isn't an anomaly, and all forgot the seventh deadly sin banners itself anger. All that smarts.

How to fight what is a Japanese melody for flute by alignment, to celebrate when called for. I held a broken plastic token in my hot hand and radiated enough for one night and the German on the bed I named celebrator. In the larger room people turned touched and pleased, adopted.

The factors refuse change but to metamorphose when counting grains of top-heavy grass. My arms wouldn't lift the world and I made manager, staring up tall stalks from the lawn gone to seed. More to the story demands a snow white flutter, and the season has passed.

I have a cease fire with my father but he won't tell if he swallowed a nail.

Who looks busy in that corner?

I loosened something, a screw standing upright.

I'll kill to hold it safe.

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