Tuesday, March 31, 2009

April 1st, 2009

My excavation needs to keep me widdled in the ground, with a rake hitting the ankles with a sharp throb throb
Riddles of bones and diamonds, the way of the world was so much easier in a picture frame, an hour glass, a snow globe
Check with the lost and found, they may have your identification card: a picture of you screaming in the silence that follows copy machines and colored ink, Rayon, specifically. You're teeth are rotting. An oval mouth, the openness doesn't look good on camera. The silence swallows something, something is nothing because nothing is ever said.

Lay on, stack the layered hidden remains like Jenga, only in the dark, a metallic piece that gets lost among the Taboo cards of beauty and all future predictions that remain false
A frozen ground lifts to see the sun rising on the wrong side of the earth as the firebird waltzes to its bow, clever in its prance and even more clever in the smirk that aligns with a tender tondue

Dig earth body like a mean screw that can't get past the wooden wall next to the picture frame of lights on a dark parking lot, force the metal into someplace it doesn't belong
Now on is forever, a swan's wings, a pickle in a sticky situation,
stacked like a spice, pepper, nothing fun like paprika or saucy flavors
stacked and re-stacked and nervously stacked, shaking a foundation that was never meant to be built

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