Permutations of the Edge

dark outlines. bleed through the fabric. soft pillows chase the needle. the colors arrive. a broken voice. in a chaos of flesh. struggles to speak. long strings relinguish the puppets. though still, they continue to dance.

the arbiter negotiates hungry threads. the epiphany of our inevitable surrender. the empty chairs. the quiet tables. the subtle differences betwen happiness and death.

dull claws on the canvas. pretend their art. indents in the soil suspect. stained beds. dirty pajamaas. casual gods flaunting their faulty time machines.

the falling barometer of touch. the impending winter. in a sneer and a chuckle. as if we've always been naked. and are only now noticing how cold we've been.

what is gone. or never was. the crime of sympathy. punishes each of us. in its own way.

the hungry doorstep. rampant with phantom knocks and winking lights. she was shy when it mattered. and bold when it didn't. she spoke like it was the end. and listended like it'd only just begun.


the wounds choose their chairs. as the music stops.
the obvious angles always gave her pause. trembling flesh and buttery kisses. each moment devours us. lives of torn note paper and scribbled maps. the antidote teases. in dry coughs and terminal cancers. the cure has fangs. it bites down and pierces. unaware of how important the sickness has become.