The Monolith on C Street
8/26/2007
Last exile posterized amongst door grain with the light of day switched on. Can I take a pee? Poe is a starving cat bounds to my lap, in which sick life is bondaged. Mary bound to her hotoil treatment whirrs in fullon sunshines of nascent afternoon. Snow-flecks land for months and weave into your skin. With a plastic bag of storebought wrapped around her hair! Because there are no empty rooms. Mom, are you going to check my chores? By way of one of the greatest greeks in history. I move closely through your symmetry. Don’t hold anything back. Or you’re not even sure there even is a right thing to do. Hisself-effacement skulks off to the woods by itself? Mistakes breed vermin. Polyphony blossoming thickly steaming chords as vicious as sustenence as vagrant as wakefulness. They don’t sit side-by-side. Returns to childhood via horror and science fiction. The common names we have for things have shifted. The beautiful strength of vulnerability. Big trucks brush by me walking on the shoulder with my backpack on. This is how I figure out what was meant by my days. Billboards glow among slowing branches. You won’t have to spoil it with questions. Another unbinding. Lucidly swallows. Don’t look where you don’t want to go.
09/01/2007
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