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(79)

the rest is silence

only because death is
literally (literarily)
the only way to make Hamlet
shut up

(74)

ne t'inquiète pas.

il parle,
mais tout ce que j'entends--
c'est l'afflux de sang

(59)

Must we waffle on, here?
If raccoons ride on UFOs
and zap into the night,
what kind of xenogenesis occurs?
What mutations of magnanimous machinations?

(53)

something about autumn called to her
(a deep primal pull)

maybe it was the way the wind
(invited)
as biting as in the winter months
(insistent)
was softened by the warm colors all around
(a purposeful caress)

maybe it was the colors themselves
(dancing)
colors that transported her
(to distraction)
into a world of fantastical tranquility
(everything and nothing)

she suspected
however
(enticing as everything may be)
that it had something to do with
(nothing)
the transient nature of the season
(or fleeting everything)
almost over before you notice it's begun

(50)

you could never know
the strange impossibility of me
but neither could I
without trying to understand
the dangerous temporality of you

(47)

he questions control
her hand a sort of threshold
anchored in carnage
blood
but somehow still clean
opening himself
his awareness hesitates
breathes
curiosity gets the better of him
he takes the proffered hand
exists

(45) we are all

inevitably
searching for hydrostatic
equilibrium

(42) Infection

the heart of the matter isn't betrayal
it's not fear
or confusion
or even rage

what festers is the resigned disappointment
broken and useless he can deal with
but this hollow passivity horrifies
like he can never truly posses the pain

and there's this fucking inscrutable
arrangement of lies
and miasma of truths
mounting in the silence
limbs splayed beyond desperation
the ugly infection taking hold

(41)

he's enchanted by this
the exquisite yet remote
something about the twisted distance
of menacing self-consciousness
burns his sterile eyes

dingy black numbers tantalize
never leave fingerprints
an entirely suspicious existence
if you ask me (you never do)
but perhaps better than this
the meager glow of the familiar
clumsy and warm
and entirely too aware

(21) I sure as shit don't understand it all

an inveterate rake
(trying to get it right this time)
freely looking
(exhales)
turns back to make quick
(ask me again tomorrow)
to avoid having to have
(it hurts)
he falters
(can't stand her crying)
lips ever sealed
(gasping)
and puts himself away
(falls asleep)
like the splinter never happened

(16)

I wonder about the way in which I watch
to try to see or understand
it's never quite enough
really
to smile and say you're satisfied

in a moment knowledge can be
bigger than the universe
harder and heavier
than the possibility of death

and then what we want
is infinitely clumsier
than it was before
too little and too much
all at once

(15)

I believe in the places between--
the forbidden places
a dream of the end of the universe

I eat fairy-cake for breakfast
and exist in every possible world
careening into infinity before lunchtime
and back again for tea
because perception makes me thirsty

If there was a point to this story
I left it in my pocket
in the jacket I was wearing
at the end of the universe