Phone

And so We remained transfixed, slowly asphyxiating. Our staring bright eye gaze, drowning complacency. Soundless, visual noise injected directly through Our minds’ eye. Penetrating dreams, derailing trains of thought, stuffing Our ears with white static cotton balls. The cogs of imagination missing teeth We punched out, and World Builders laid off.   No more heads…

Aunt

I'm not like you with your death-stick in mouth ranting and raving about life's lies and a lack of personal clout you're just huffing and puffing your efforts away little engine that coulda, woulda, shoulda I'm the little engine that will my will won't ever die I can't lie down when my dreams call me…

The Art of Lying

This showing of fallibilities, a mingling of broken people all belonging together in their conscious graspings at fantasy, at escape, at amnesia.   I too am fallible, possibly the worst of them all. They at least devise practices by which to cope, to embrace the jagged edges of themselves and eachother.   I'd rather sit…