Fables of Ends Sanguine

i wasn't moving, but i was. Toads in the sky. Mimicking the rain that had already fallen. The cigarette burning down like a bomb about to detonate. Fingers and toes all tangled up in deciding where to die.

He's not ugly. Just doesn't know how beautiful he is. The dinosaurs in his underwear wait for the meteor. Imagine extinction. Like we all do. When life won't listen.

Temporary tattoos. Foul dimensions cycling through what is left of us. In the dots of blood on linen napkins. Pretentious mysteries too easily solved. No evidence necessary. No victims required.

To know what is dead.

Hunting dogs and rifles too certain. Playdough blow jobs stopped before the sculpture could heal. There should be proof, but there isn't. There should be a plague, but there's just us. Seeing god in every bit of skin we think belongs to us.

When all I want to prove is that I'm immune to it.

Some time travel that only makes sense in another world. The pantomime of strangers. A lazy dance. The feedback resonating from his zipper. Cocky songs that don't seem to care how he came to learn them. A cardboard sign stuck into his underwear. No trespassing. A template. For the only sickness that could cure us.

A man. In every sense of the word.

She's red Enough now.

To let the concrete decide how hard it will be.