she fills the glass halfway and laughs at the metaphor, surrenders to the sensation and closes a weary eye. it is this way everytime– she fills the glass over, pulls wings from the flies caught in the tsunami– the girl’s got grip. she drains the glass empty and watches the last drop suffocate before her…

in her room the light is just a little brighter, the darkness just a little darker. i lie in her bed with a cigarette brandished between two fingers and the light from that is moreso than in any other place. above and behind us the window cracked softly to let in just a trace of…

in that valley lined with street signs and overhead lights come the dregs like bad omens, loping with their crooked grins and burned out eyes, they come across the road alone or in the company of others, trailing children behind them in a train of utterly horrifying lineage while ants with iron hides and headlight…

she’s inches away dancing on the edge of reason, speaking in a language i can’t recall, drifting in and out of focus, always throwing me spirals yet never letting me catch them. she is a silhouette of possibility sending premature shivers through me, never listening to the others she trusts my strange eyes and she…

looking into the abysmal heart of heaven for hours i watched fallen kings burn out in the atmosphere, my eyes trained upward to such a degree that it became unclear whether the stars were real or manifested from a desire to have them there and like some fallen god stationed to a remote world i…

they live outside the well, indiscreet in their pilgrimage towards nothing, fearless from a lack of understanding the very things that can tear them apart. they soak up the sun and ride the waves while i hide in the shade, and smoke, and dream, and write absurd observations i wonder if they write about me.…

i have come to know well the metallic undressing of her hands as a signal for whats to come– ring after ring, then watch and bracelet until her bare wrists and fingers collide with mine. a soft neon blue twilight shifts our focus on one another and we glide between the sheets, the medium of…

we are strange people living strange lives but we are not strangers, the devil between you and i still hollow and unrefined, leering down naked halls and coughing wasted breath from out crystal lungs like some vagrant lacking cause. each second that passes holds the hand of my patience, leaving footprints leading away from my…

one night i sat on the edge of the world, the great blackness of space before me interrupted by pinpricks of light beyond that cover, i turned estranged with their presence and began to put out the stars and planetary bodies with the ends of my fingers. into the early morning i made work of…

on both sides of the argument there is little to be said; they buy their false gods in pill and powder form from men with calloused hands and bury themselves each night in that waste of confusion. those with heart bear witness to the fall of language and the birth of broken vestige, still struggling…