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I noticed our mindI noticed my mind is contracted to my brain the way code flows from a Photoshop program to the screen. Editing a bug picture from the FBI web iSight an angel halo gilding your floral head where I filtered the butterfly effect. But if I burn too much & and you white out just say it was a burnt LED anyway, now you're nior. Your friends won't want to know and when you try to tell 'em know that talking works most when the other person feels the say way so keep unique feelings closeted away next to those tee's you salvage at Macy's but don't wear.
Style is the face of a feeling feeling worn on a sleeve where handcuffed orange wrists watch blood fade on summer burial mounds around grass stained jeans feeding off the red dusk. The worst feeling is going out knowing tomorrow is going to be as bad as today. There's no sleep there. Sleep comes with night but stays throughout the next day the way a marketable house might carry cockroaches around inside tiny timber veins. When the mind breaches co
Your Coffee Stain Looks Like a Greek TragedyEzra Kilo licked the barn straw from his dry mouth and felt his head pound against the bright square of warm autumn light that shone down with morning candela.
“Morning misery.” He said. He clung onto a gray beam that injected splinters into his hand as he rose from a bed which had fallen apart during some early morning hour. The black wool blanket that transformed straw into party bed disappeared along with most of his guests. A few responsible drunks chose the grace of blacking out in the rented barn instead of driving home through long country roads where farmers drive million dollar lawn mower machines.
Ezra climbed down the loft of the barn and once on the ground searched for one of the many plastic water bottles that experienced drinkers drink with hard liquor to prevent hangovers. The stench of morning wet straw and rotting grass smelled putrid instead of like summer nights through the discerning nose of the hangoveree.
Ezra found a virgin water bottle on the cement
Gun Range Philosophy I
Latex white paint and mortar grey dust thickens the hand skin of many who believe in gun range logic. The Constitution is their finish line of philosophies and an idea further is foreign.
He had his hand in his pocket and I thought he jangled his change out of boredom when we spoke. He had Parkinsons Disease.
Four stood over a gutter on the edge of a cornfield in fall and leaves fell. Mud had caked into the drainage veins and they knew how to fix it. I did not. I could not make gun range repairs and live in a world of hammers and facts with a constitutional philosophy.
What do they eat? They join political tea parties and drink beer but I do not know what they eat. I paint a cinderblock grey shed white and he says "There's beer in the fridge in the clubhouse". Thanks John.
Antifreeze Doesn't Work On Frogs
Inside an antifreeze manufacturing company Dave made 11 dollars hourly driving a propane powered tow motor. He came to work drunk and during the course of the day drove a heavy pallet of antifreeze canisters through a window. The canisters spread around in different directions and one of these rolled across the parking lot then splashed through the thin ice of a nearby pond.
Kraken the bullfrog woke up with a start and looked around. Next to him lay Sevun the leopard frog, his mate, who still slept hard. He nudged her but she didn't wake up so he sprung his legs and swam up through the brackish water.
The afternoon sun burned cold and he licked slime from his eyes as he lugged his body to shore. Instinct tried to kick in jump now! Eat? No! Jump then? Escape now! He thrust his thick hind legs but they lugged behind him with cold weight so he crawled instead. The sun burned cold and Kraken the bullfrog hopped onto the parking lot asphalt and heard his knee bone
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I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More