my vial has a twist screw top

There was more to this before the heart missed the beat. Before it skipped, shattering my illusion. I dare you to save this. Salvage my poetry ridden fantasies from this burned out hard-drive. Nano-chatter black and white. One zero One, insert laughter here. Insert her laughter, her lips, the texture of her silk wrap sari. Meta/physical.


Matter tickles. It’s not quite an itch, nothing I want to scratch, but it makes me squirm. This candy wrapper, the structure of the material, I can see it. It’s pretty, the way one side shimmers, the way it has a half life like the sun.


Ping like bone hitting schoolyard fenceposts. Reverberation, kick it again. The girl is underage, you can’t take her to the bar, but her barrettes might match your sheets. The wife’s at work this week, off in Alaska on a cruiseship. You want to bite the cheaply moulded plastic. You’re thinking about it already. The brown pig-tails on the starched bed would be such a turn-on. Tie her wrists to the headboard with a skipping rope purely for the perversity of it. You love it she’s in a miniskirt. Tough little scabby knees. Bet she runs around with the boys. bet she kisses them behind the portables. She’d know what to do with a grade six ass like that.


I remember flying. Giant black wings spreading from my shoulder blades, it’s tangible. Ghost memories from too many movies. Sometimes I turn my head, expecting my cheek to brush starchy feathers. My soul brims a chord of deep loss when my hands don’t meet anything more solid than air behind my head, the empty curve of my back like a betrayal. I don’t trail my fingers through my hair anymore. It’s easier to pretend with all my mirrors broken.


When you’re ready, we’ll go.

how soon is love

My throat is thick with the stale scent of semen. He’s left, I’m alone now. Already the wolves are circling. His essence means nothing, the unborn children dripping into cloth between my legs doesn’t work as a ward over the internet. Primal, you fools. Think primal. Let me be for just one day, his smell is still on my tongue.

now I want to do more

So I tried and fell down. Can’t deal with the gravity of the situation. Your voice downloading on the headset chuckled. Bitch. Can I help it I grew up hovering? It feels weird to touch the ground and stay, there’s no velcro on anything. How does it work? In my head I know the basics – the math and physics, but my optics are telling me that I’m stupid. This isn’t how I wanted to meet you. I wanted to be slightly more graceful. I feel frumpy when my auburn hair isn’t floating. This is like living in meat.

I can’t remember when I first saw your face. There was a building, a tree, it’s all in pictures. It would take days in the archive to track you down, you’re so enmeshed in my life now. Tiny scuttling bots could do it in hours, but that’s cheating. Down the well for you. You saved me, now hold me.

inspired in part by strangemachine

strange machine : our hearts

Bwahaha. Even at four in the morning, am I both the only human on the planet who can edit to 200 words or use HTML because Holy Hell people, WE ARE INTERNET USERS – WTF?

Also: After being made of madness for a week, I’m laughing myself silly for having made the first post. It’s not what I stayed awake for.


Gavin has left. About an hour ago I bid him goodbye at the door. I feel hollow now. I’ve come back into myself in time for him to leave. My piece came last night and freed me. I feel like my personality’s been downloaded back into flesh. I can feel my smiles. It’s like I’ve been robbed. It could have been a better week, it could have had love and affection and desire. We did what we did. We did well with what we had. I can feel him still, he hasn’t left the city. My mind sees him skinny by the road, his black hoodie up against the weather. The sky looks as if it’s been erased with a cheap rubber, dark gray smear as if there was once graphite text scrawled messily across cloud. It’s filthy rain today, nothing clean. He’s too old to hitchhike, but it’s happening. He’s on a bus now, maybe looking out the window. Out to Abbotsford, out to the highway proper. It’s over when I feel him gone. It’s over when he’s gone.

Over being a relative concept.

I can feel myself slipping into post-modern relationship. Time-share serious masquerade. The concept firmly implanted when I was too exhausted to argue. He does it on purpose, I swear. “No overlap and you’re fine”. Dominique’s going to pin me to the wall. “All he has to do is leave town” I’m thinking it’s a good idea. I’m thinking it’s what’s going to happen.

I’m thinking….. maybe finally yes.