Exile in Rational Numbers

Soft aces against spades. Deal me a suicide. In random bets. Short clubs with heavy handles. Kings on the thumb. Pressing the gasket. Hard liars mix the hand.

Turn off the faucet. Chase the leaky drum. The trenchant rhythm. Gross with resolve. Ants to the nest. Certain. In their poisons. The walls still stand. Grave predators in the shadow of my submission. I never wake up. Just fall farther still.

He was just a man. Fables and semen to color the outline. So many women. Heavy levers. Flat cunts at the fulcrum. Paled by the physics.

I want. The transparency. That flesh insists. Time pinwheels. As we clutch. The handles that make it spin. I want. The moments that skin pretends. I swallow the cum of impotent demons. And try to imagine the breadth of their wings.

She carries the ink. In small betrayals. Bargains negotiate the man. She draws. Still. With her broken pencils. Corrupt with the skeleton. Consumed with the colors. She's been convinced are there.

Empty atoms on the highways. Their looming axles in the mountains. I woke up. Soft petals on the verge of mania. Tall beers and probability. Turn the liars into battles long since lost.

The war is quiet. The army is come. To determine what we've lost.