{intrinsically intertwined} [AKA] (memoriesfromlastnight)

in the aftermath the addition was subtracted from the scented bathing of bodies in each others other. the moistness of flesh with the hardness of flesh with the strength of flesh on its softness. sticking skin on skin cemented humans mortared by their own heat in the wasteland frozen and melting on one side only. bound by cloth obligation and desire to stroke the fire wasting none nor tongues to permeate the elasticity of man. supple supplied sounds of spirit and the spirits on breath were spirited into soul by passage of the throat threatening to take the taste away so sinking teeth like ships into the morsel of opposition resistance and retreat ending in brutal defeat and the conquered took their prisoners with a smile and a sigh signifying the silent screams bottled up and shaken till the bottles begin breaking. stillness in the night. the field flowers where flourished power. wasting. wondering at the intent. the breach. the begining. the scent, always the scent. masked in musk heaved and huffed and breathed in lust. tempting trust. still inclined bathed in light arms inside of arms around torsos connected to shoulders running legs on legs and the valley filled by blood filled blood. nestled and dissolving.

SIXTEEN FEBRUARY TWO-THOUSAND-TEN

{apatheticattempt} [AKA] (contemplatingcapoteanddeathbyhanging)

and from the creation the only thing he lacked was a character and in linking words with his tongue he was able to start a sentence in the middle and take a stance on where words stood without betraying their location or intent. the glass on the edge of the window looked like the glass that kissed his forehead and collected the steam from his lungs tainted by passage through his mouth and he tasted still the stillness of his cell. through the light the air shone and rang into his ears like a metaphor that needed no completion and in breaking every rule he broke the silence that betrayed his intention and located his thoughts. outward outward he always looked outward. inward his innards were inert and inept. and the blood crept. from his heart to his extremities pooling around the exit where they burst free from their cage contained in the body that was bought and brought with the air the deepness of red that would fade to brown and soak the air with its presence. and as he laid. it is okay to began a thought out of nowhere but to end it in the same. he would step off the train at the same time and the same place as the instant he became a passenger. and he always shot the messenger. to kill. denial was not something that could be put on tried and judged like the show with jurors in tow paveing the law for future infractions. but only pieces. and he pictured him in his place. and he became the place he wanted most feared interests compounded daily into a single number that would calculate a single act. the most eager door would never be opened but pinned down with a direction it bisects insurrection leading down a path too dangerous for most to follow. and they all fall down. hounded like hounds. with the exclamation mark implied. what a difference a single vowel makes. inhalation caused the condensation to dissipate until he again voided the void in his chest blessed by oxygen stressed by excitement. deeper deeper he felt. wrapped in a quilt. the innumerable muscles required to blink drew upon the syrup spilled to take in that element consumed in the void. and he wondered at the finality of it all. and the continuation after his departure. a friend in the room would ease the pain for the instant and increase the crease on the plane of the continuation after his departure. but it was never flat before hand. and out of the valleys created by the folding mountains grew in inverse and inverted themselves when the plane nosedived the perpendicular. and off their peaks walked feet. falling in the direction that gravity intended to resist. and the kiss on the forehead became a hug on the neck but heaping on the acceleration the condensation condensed its concentration. pooling no longer on the plane of glass that looked like glass it now descended skin that tastes like skin and marinated in its own wastes the salt crept back into darkness. the thrust comes now. a desperate attempt at tying together all of it was in the timing. with a hand of a sailor. knots were not desired but slipped and slided into the insight offered by a falling man. embracing until the crack. of dawn. and a single dot made the consideration fall upon the break. but drained now. and pale. cut loose until the thud. a second fall a second wind. but he could not see either. only felt the moisture. and the warmth of the earth.

FEBRUARY FOURTEEN TWO-THOUSAND-TEN

{i donated rocks and toads}

no vacant lots exist on the path to the novacaine indulgence noted on the last of the token shelter rodents behold us its untold that the story told itself that the wrapping yarn has felled a tree much taller than i undeniably sighing sinking seizing as the forest trees were seeing and reaching into retreat from the recent week of sinks out of the kitchen the ditch in the rich mans back was a hitch for the pitching of a tent for the farce and out of the larks we invented the dark that was draped onto cars and baked into czars raked from our yards and dazed without tars placed in the hardened rented and scared fence laced without paceing the cardinal heart key cant we be starting the newest branch scarf tree into the park for a bench with a bent seat eat eat eat the seal and seal the sealant with a seal and an ant we cant be handled but you grasp us anyways and the only way to be holding trays of steel is with intent to betray so we ran away and tanned the sleigh and pulled our dogs out of the mush into the bush and raised voices without a clear end in the corner of our mind so we let it trail on down the trail we were on and out we let our thought outlet and pluged in the voltage we wrangled and prided ourselves on while we entangled our thoughts in the one fatal watt and our son was soon snowed into plots unto done

SEVEN FEBRUARY TWO-THOUSAND-TEN

{AND HE CANNOT SLEEP}

the restless night sounds sleep reside in hidden light lit from the side the back and forth a pendulum swings and as he sings we think he dreams but in his dreams are darkened rooms and in his bloom is sweeping fumes and the swell that rose from the well was imposed on the rose that froze in its well worn stove and baked the pie thrice twice mine in the shape of a heart insecured to the banister when the canister was banished for the menace that the six pence couldnt resend no matter how many times he hit the button and no matter how many times he hit the floor he got up and rose a little higher until the glider that was imagined on to his arms became realistic in its depiction of the action of falling scalding and dissolving resolutions that rang in the ranks of the roof tin stuck in the proof bin and gnawed by the truth sin against the grain of the agents that hate sends into the raked gents and the raped hints that lead to the answer but you couldnt dance her half way to the moon!

and in answer to the question you never imagined the newer model wants for the lack of a starter and egging inside of the nest egg beside her was once stuck inside her and lactated iron directly into the bloodstream until the body turned poison against its own blood and indeed the flood came and solidified stumps of the limbs that remained became sturdier and stronger and lost their limberness and lividity which lived through me until my final breath which was penultimate in retrospect but a bit more potent than the fleeting craft which sailed last out of the harbor on the way to the sideshow where the inventors could peer at it and leer at it and out of their jowls their jaws betrayed themselves and the whelks were whelped with the help of the felt that was spun from the fiber of the stem of the brain and christened in painfully spirited rain until it hit the northern shore of south helpless and the strain on the grains that were planted were restless like the sleeper of the freer of the slaves of our predictions and were layed upon layers of our rotting hot perdition and shoveled into trucks that were driven onto tracks that lead onto rails that were trained to not come back and loads became boats and boats became births in our mothers greatest womb of the worlds nature flute which is played only on days of resentment for our treatment at the hands of our gods who were entered into entries about crimson coated rods and with our sceptors raised high we glanced up to the sky in answer to the questions we never asked to try in a court of law of heart and hardened the castle came tumbling and dumped out its plumbing and the prettiest castle had the shittiest pipes scraped clean by the flys who grew bored of dead eyes and would bore into sites just to lay out their fifes and join into the chorus of the wind marching song and would play right along just to hear their entrance falling and the enticing part of all this was the lack of milk in august when the ranches opened harvest and the ranters sent the farthest of their ideas into the sphere that was straddled and graced with a jeering steering in the right direction and lacking erection the building crumbled from time and disuse rather than the destructive fate that was envisioned by the destroyer who was never mentioned because his opponent had a monopoly on both reason and raisons but great things came from grain before less was made for same and both are offered gaining profits lasting in a chain strung from the start to stringing cars and stinging hardly hurt the scars so we added acid after acrid left and at the ancient axe blade ate our last tray gave about face left the planet placed in ash trays

FIVE FEBRUARY TWO-THOUSAND-TEN