Arranging the Negatives

Their vacant gazes. Itinerary enough. I've been nowhere too often not to want to go back. Sheep's lips on the blender. As the meat surrenders to the pot. And wolf tongues stuck to the cold metal pylons. As the winter loosely takes over.

I'm not wearing anything. I'm not anywhere at all. I don't exist. Save for what they might remember. And that is far too little.

The pirates boast. Stealing their gold from our secret places. The witches dance. In inkblots on paper I've scribbled over. The reason I can't find the cure is that this disease does not exist.

I am it. It is me. And we die together.

The marker dries out. The cap still in my mouth. As I wait for a reason to draw again. On those stark white pages that have always betrayed. The mattress groans as I crawl upon it. Searching for the ghosts that used to haunt it.

They're all alive again. But I'm still here. searching this massive coffin. For someone other than myself to blame.

The evolution of the skin bores me. Their lips petrified. Dead lumber. To be built by someone else. The thrust of the darkness tries on her weak pelvis. Like a lollipop half licked. The stick soft and exposed.

It's the future she whispers. Come to tell me. It's stronger than I am. It's the lipstick. She smears on his cheek as she kisses him. Looking for a name to put to the color. It's memory. Forgetting us.

It's taking pictures in the dark. Without a flash.