"women in pattens"

saving shoes, saving hems
so carefully step

a woman in iron pattens
breaks bondage with itself.
breaks a gentleman's ankle.
makes off with his wallet and thigh high ridding boots.
her own hero, forever,
unless, o'course, she's hanged.

'til then,
her hem is filthy,
but her toes are warm,
and her feet are finally free.

findings

"Having conferred with my esteemed colleague, Confirmation Bias, I can say with confidence, the more I understand the more enraged, afraid, and depressed I become. Ms. Bias and I have rigorously examined a selectively limited data set to reach this appalling and universal truth.

"Further, the findings of this very scientific meta survey of the stuff I remember indicate everything has always, and will always, suck. All actions are doomed to failure, happiness is neither compatible with knowledge nor moral behavior, and all will be burned away in that fateful epoch wherein this dumb planet is engulfed by the stupid fucking sun.

"The last point at least offers this researcher some small solace."

"We will be taking no questions. Answers are false anchors tying one to the delusion of sensibility and meaning.

"This then concludes the imaginary press conference. And again, questions are futile, just like everything anyone has ever done.

"Thank you for wasting your finite time with us, you monstrous fools. Goodnight."

precision and intent

The witch was precise. More chemist than magician he felt. 0.07g of green flakes, put in by tweezers one at a time. With ruler and magnifying glass, she sliced off a 3.33×1.11 cm strip of tongue flesh. What kind of tongue? He didn't want to know.

The silence was getting to him. Her glare stopped the spastic drumming of his fingers, and she continued etching some tiny design into a square of snowflake obsidian.

He spent the next 15 minutes twisting paperclips into gnarled bundles, and regretting mentioning the election.

Finally, she unceremoniously spat into a beaker of viscous, bubbling brown something. The paperclips bounced as it slammed down on the table.

He winced.

"Did ya have to like connect with it or something? The spitting? Just seemed different."

"No, and no amount of money buys you another. Drink it all and leave. Now."

splintering beads

cracked like safety glass

adhesive film failing

cracked like safety glass

spreading in crystalline decay

the windshield has seen it's share

of gravel and ball bats

incidental, intentional

I try

it means very little

costs so very much

cracked.

like safety glass.

crumbling bits cascade,

at the slightest ||| pressure deject

crumbling crystalline decay

and adhesive pushed past,

the point of utility, and cruelty

cracked like safety glass.

I want to hate the adhesive.

I'm sorry, Flower.

brief. I hope it was happy.

at the end: love. at the end.

I'm sorry I didn't pet you more.

I thought there was more time.

I hate the cruelty that brought you to this.

small comfort, I hope, Flower,

small comfort of scratches and conversation

I talked to you after. I didn't know.

I talk to you now. I do know, now.

cruelty brought you to us

I wish we could have been better, but that takes time.

and you didn't have much.

love, little kitty

goodbye

white tangles of lawn, chthonic... beneath the weight of gray

dead dead dead
dead-electric the air
in, in the grass
the grass blades a sieve,
haphazard mesh, press and obscure
the clod and the pebbles and chips of gravel brought from far away and the tears tracing curves too intimate without comfort or consent, crying
in the breath before the wind before the rain
memory dead electric

sometimes I imagine suffering as a vast black field of permeating particles. each act of violence an outward explosion. waves overlapping, intensifying in jagged communion. birthing new bursts |*| nova  waves over... overlap and grow.

overcoming all. suffer exponential growth.

slow seeds and blooms of kindness cannot keep from flying into pieces. sheer volume and terrible magnifying motion. it grows. consumes. rends.

unnecessary

unending

 

god, maker and monster,

won't come out of his bedroom.

eating chili dogs and watching reruns of Friends on the local CW daydrunk as fuck

and we all drown in the black caustic ash we spit and breathe

sometimes, I actually see the vast dark field of jagged

and choke

cold empty oblivion sounds so lovely

serene