the question maker falling down

down

drown
draws dawn

with a single line

Bien chéri, quelle obscénité secrète est ceci ?


moi ? vous ? un lion sous la pluie ?

ps. its morse code

recreating a false fabretto

there, when i looked down to see what i had done, two characters lay in front of me. vivid and colorful, lives spread out across the pages, some of which remain lost, but there they were, formed from the hollow of my cheek. oh what color and life and wealth! i poured a stiff drink, a toast to myself was in order., to these undiscovered treasures in type 12. standing, the lights hung lower, filtered a haze through dirty glasses, mumbled a shine over the slick unwashed hair i tossed aside. "AND THIS! THIS IS TO THE SACRIFICE OF USING THE UNUSABLE FODDER. HERE IS TO KISSING AND TELLING!"
the cats hiding under foot glared, lost interest, and with eyes narrowed laughed at my shadow on the southern wall.
with that i drank
and drank
and drank
until the sips drew on longer, the red lacquer worn off, hugging bottle rims like a bleeding heart.
then
yes
or
now


---.... --..---- -.. !

this.

a blackout

from you
from those nondescript people living through words spelt with bile and spit
it was us
always, even before there was an "_ _"
before you put my hands down your throat, told me to touch a part of life. REAL life.
(and yes i did, i felt it, i wanted to keep the stray pieces to myself. call it dirt under my nails.)
is this love?
because love is love is love is love like no other, its a wave crashing down with an open hand only to find no victim open mouthed while the salt makes its way past the lips, through the nose, headed straight to eardrums, pounding in like an animal kept at bay. you found me, midsentence, like some recollected memory turned over and over in the palm of my hand until every callous moment was smoothed over, leaving behind only a dimly light sequence of you pushing the hair from my neck, laughing hard enough to make bubbles in the thick summer haze around a sleeping burrough.
turn
a leaf held to the sun
turn
your leather jacket hanging on the back of the same chair i sit in and chainsmoke with no due reason. "why are there so many boxes of cerial in your kitchen?"
turn
turn
nothing
turn
turn
turn
two broken bottles and a half moon smile.
turn

turn
until every broken capilary on my dull toothed face is smoothed. until your day old grin is so unfamilair. until i am the punchline of every bad joke you tell inaccurately. until all the pleasantries we existed in souley as adulterous addicts lose their novelty, until those long film ribbons of us flecked with sand in a beachless city are cut into place mats. until th e seconds an d fr
am
es become me78an9ing
g
less

a sec ond[[0f++confusi

on.
;flashing! th/'en''

gon
e.

then
yes
or
now


---.... --..---- -..




this
ApPLAUSE! APPLAUSE!
what brilliance i have found in your absolute neglect yet again!

kings and diamonds and waking up unaware

lets drink before noon every day.
(next time be sure to capture a slice of your thumb in the frame)

hello rasputan