Green tide sirens scream the black signal smoke a back drop curtain fall.

And every breath brings you closer to death, every heart beat closer to the end.

But its silent and docile on the front lines, with blindfolds.

You feel nothing and only hear what your told.

Those eratification, of the jester, the demoralizing grade school lesson.

You're miraculously unique, and uniqueness doesn’t appeal to us.

We want the same color schemes, gray mattes Tuscan star dust.

The granite of the graves blends well with the others.

Its the same again and again and again.

And your anger will do nothing but feel your bowels with razors till you shit blood, and hemorage.

Your screaming, is like the blue sky pale en by the factory ping.

Just lye down, radiated dreams of your soul.

photons

The stars tonight,

connected dots to outline,

the curvature of lights descent (down her limbs).

The Delicate softness I drifted upon.

Blue blood was a mystery until those marks were made. The shoulders of proof, it wasnt a dream.

And the statues were just crewed attempts of elegance,

in this regard.

the showers of earth bound flame illusions,

reality shrieked in waves of vibrations,

all light tilting inward.

these forms,

only the oceans mist could explain,

the wind danced upon her hands.

And I whispered.

Girl, I ache for your photons,

flowing through me.

I want to breath you in,

sleep in your warmth.

Count how many times you breath.

the experiments of the physics,

I'll record the data.

we'll just drift.

And when it all folds in on you

collapsing gently a little at a time

breathing stops and collides

like that moment of emptiness and fullness

then it hurts, hurts all through you

taking little bits of all you know

and then turning inward

softly like silk

but ripping you apart

beautifully

beautiful pain, ripping away

but you want to run away, to hide your scars.

But if the light will shine true, it cant be that way,

just a sting and a trickle at a time thats all.

Just a harsh biting down, then release.

Soft like silk in that translucent lace.

But they dont see,

to them, its just a harsh painting,

soft colors blending together,

its love and fear, pain that wont go,

until you let it.

Then its love of pain and fear.

--------------------------------------------------------

There seemed to be a million miles between her ankles and toes,

the hint of a glow in her eyes.

In dreams we walked together the entire night,

not talking just walking side by side.

The stiff cold didnt effect us, it went unnoticed,

except for the pleasant wisps of breath escaping her lungs.

I could feel the red and blue radiating from her temples when she yawned.

The secrets in her foot steps,

tell little stories like the gentle sway of her hips.

Fog roses around her feet guiding us in its direction

And I knew if I woke up her warmth would fill the cold blankets.

If the moon would just rise, it would bring her to my arms.

so I could gaze into her eyes and see the shadow of her soul dance.

Then I would try to keep time, count the steps, feel the rhythm of such wonders.

But for now, i'll just wait, try to wait out the cold.

a pot to piss in

 Out of complete boredome harriette severed her fingers, cutting them off one at a time with a pair of fingernail clippers. She had been going to school to become a nail technician, each day she would come home feeling like her mouth was full of Styrofoam teeth, this sensation was caused from breathing in the nail polish and nail polish remover fumes. She had done so many nails in practice that she was getting dizzy spells, like minuet acid trips, that sensation that your spinal cord has sprung a leak, the ground droops downward in front of you as you walk. Harriett had come accustomed to this feeling, it was there everyday. it wouldnt go away for atleast 2 hrs after she had left the salon. Her hair had been dyed a thousand times as well, it felt like mircrofiber toothbrush bristles. She let the hair stylist practice on her, so she could pick up on what they were doing. But it was her dream to be mediocore, it was her destiny to be nothing but a manicurist.

After work she would get in her ford focus, to make that lonely drive home. she had bought her car shortly after high school, half paid for with student loans when she was going to community college. But that was before she realised what her dream was. And since she had racked up all the debt from going to college for 3 yrs, all the while working in the mall at a trendy shoe store. She would drive home and hide in her lonely bedroom watching re-runs of old sitcoms while eating ice cream, then moving on to vodka and orange juice, then eventually large gulps from the half gallon bottle. It was lonely, she was only half way there..

Well, actually how it happened, the whole life dream thing, she had a "friend" that worked at the salon three holes in the wall down from hers. This girl, this cosmetologist, or solonist or whetever she was, a hair technician, a hair engineer, a barberette, whatever, she was making bank, thats the point. She had a brand new mazda xr7, a hot ass boyfriend, another boy toy on the side, a studio apt. all to her self, along with a wardrobe to die for. This chick had the works and all she did was play with hair all day.

Harriette, still oblivious to this girls luxurious existence, went in for a hair cut one day. Harriette hadnt had a new hairstyle in quite a while, she had been working her fingers to the bone trying to get by. So on payday she decided she needed a bit of pampering, a haircut would do. So while harri was getting her "hair did" she started talking to this girl, her name was stacy. Stacy told her life story, then about going to cosmetologist college, then how loaded she is now. As harriette looked in the mirror admiring her new hair do, she saw her future flash before her eyes, in extravagant color. Right then she knew what to do.

Well harriette couldnt afford tuition to become a hair stylist, so nails was the next best thing, plus she could move up. Harriette droped out of community college a while ago, it was a waste anyway she figured. Now 6 months later she was about to graduatte as a manicurist, so she needed a job. At the salon where stacy worked harri picked up an app. Stacy was their making out with her new, or one of her many, boyfriends. Harriette blushed with jelousy, then the day dreams flooded her tiny head.

But harriette couldnt find a job, no one was hiring, no one called, she talked to her professors, they just told her to keep trying. Nothing for weeks, then months, then finally and interview. Harriette did everything she could to get this job, everything, she blew the last little bit of cash she had to make an impression. Then the inevitable, nothing happened.

Harriette got some cash from her mom to buy some dinner, but mostly harriette wanted booze, and lots of it. She was going to binge, binge until she forgott about all of this. She drank till she passed out, woke up had a bowl of shredded wheat, then started taking shots. Harri figured she had a 3 day supply at this rate, that second night though she never went to sleep. She just kept drinking, even when the local tv channel went off the air, she just stared at the screen waiting for it to come back on. Now she was just sipping straight from the bottle, she had been all day, and now all night. But then it happened, she blacked out, for some time. Harri woke up with the sun pounding her eyes the birds rippingout her ear drums with their churps and the wind beating her head in. so she started again, this was the final bottle, it was still half full.

In this daze harri had no idea what time it was she was just gone, starying into space. Next to her bed was the little box she kept her nail supplies in. her body was numb now, she couldnt feel anything.

Finally she thought, finally im free from this. Harriette decided to do her nails, why not, she was offically a grad now. She worked on them for a while doing her best, trying to show herself how good she was. Lost in the creation of her new nails she reached over for a drink. She took several long gulps, while thinking about what she would do next to her nails. Then looking over to see where to set her bottle down safely, she noticed, the bottle looked funny. But she was too cought up in her creations. Suddenly the room started spinning, the floor started changing colors. Her fingers grew long then shrank. "what the fuck" harriette thought, grabbing the bottle, to finish it off. Before taking her last gulp of the almost empty bottle harriette held it up, a cheers to herself, and her nails. Then the true nature of her drink was revealed, harri realised her mistake. It wasnt a vodka bottle, it was nail remover. Looking down at the floor harriette now realised she hadnt been sniping at her nails, she was snipping at her knuckles.

the fall of fall

 It was 7am and the sun was sluggishly lighting the horizon. it was that time of year when the sun slowly leaves us to deal with the darkness and cold a bit more each night. The trees slowly falling asleep, shedding leaves, the grass becomes that unbearable brown color. And no matter how hard you try the sky is always gray. It was at this ungodly hour of reluctance, that the world felt the need to throw a few more punches, a kick or two to the ribs. And everything just begged for a concussion, to digress before the blackness of unconsciousness.

Elsa was getting ready for work, Steve had already left. So she had the place to herself, she sang bee gees songs as she made a Denver omelet, and sipped some coffee down. Elsa hadn’t felt herself for some time but today, she felt better then she did when she was herself. Elsa felt luxurious, Steve left a note on her pillow. The note was very vague, but the intentions of the note screamed out at her. She was to be ready by 8pm sharp, dressed to kill as instructed. They had been a couple for long enough so she figured it was that time. Time to have a nice gold ring put on her finger in a candle lit room, with champagne flowing and love in the air. Elsa's imagination ran wild while the sun crept up lighting her kitchen.

6 months earlier and 90 miles away, in a small town called Hartford a man in a mask walked into a bank. Pulled out a gun and left with a bag of cash. The police said they had leads, but this was just a ploy to hide the police chiefs incompetence. The police chief was named lawrence, he was 50 had been a cop for 30 yrs. But in Hartford the worst thing that had ever happened was a 6 yr old girl getting ran over by her mom as she left for work. So Lawrence was quite clueless, still he needed to prove himself and this was his opportunity.

The man who robbed the bank some how slipped away, completely unnoticed. He had been planning this robbery for yrs, then one day it was time. He wasn’t on the run, he just gradually made his way out of town, camped and fished for a few weeks then moved on. The man who robbed the bank, his father owned a factory that produced anti-depressants. His father was a bit of a scientist and a doctor to say the least. But the robber was suited to acquire the family biz. He failed, he went to college studied, was at the top of his class. Then he got mixed up in a little bit of criminal activity and gave up the ghost. His heart broken father abandoned him. Of course our little crook didn’t care, he just moved away got a job at a steel mill.

rob made his way into the town, Elsa's home town, it had been six months so he felt like all was clear. He bought a small car, one that was crappy enough to not draw attention, but still a descent get away vehicle. Rob found a studio apartment and moved in. Elsa on the other hand was planning a wedding, they were to elope next Saturday. Then spend the next week and a half on a cruse ship in the Rivera, it took six month to plan. Steve had been saving for years secretly.

On the other side of town two fat smoke stacks bellowed out puffy white clouds. Men in hard hats and white cover alls walked around, like they had work to do. It was the morning shift change, the early chaos that slowly drones in to a day of endless automation. Nothing seemed any different then any other day.

Lawrence really had found some leads, he had been doing his homework. Hartford was a small enough town that almost every person could be accounted for, so it looked like the odds were on his side. Lawrence had tracked down a few transaction that seemed suspicious enough. He had found his way to Elsa's hometown, with his snout stuck to the ground. He had found a place to strike, and he was ready to go in guns blazing.

On his way out to his car, rob saw a young woman through the window on the first floor of the apartment building he just moved into she was pretty he thought. She had a feminine glow to her that made him stare for a moment. I think its easy enough to assume this is Elsa, so it was. Rob was just going out to get some things from his car to get ready for the day. A block away Lawrence watched.

Ten minutes later Steve came home unexpectedly, saying their had been a breach at the plant, he needed his hazmat suit. Elsa was glowing, just to have the sight of her love, but still was a bit struck with concern. Steve said it wasn’t anything big, that’s why he was helping, he said no biggy. "I’ll be home for dinner, so don’t worry." As Steve stepped out the door he saw a shot gun pointed right between his eyes. Guess who? It was Lawrence. Now somehow Lawrence with his stellar intellect tracked down Steve as the robber, since all of a sudden he had deposited a bunch of money in his bank account. Steve had to be his man. But the truth was Steve had been hiding his money in a safe he had hidden in his work shed. When the wedding had been set, he deposited this money into his bank account. Coincidentally the very next day after the robbery.

Rob upstairs from his window saw the cop, he almost shit his pants. But when he noticed the gun was pointed at someone else, he felt like the sliest fox ever to live. So here was the dilemma, playing out right in front of him. Surreal like on a movie screen.

As Lawrence pointed his gun, with the snarl of a starving beast waiting to dine. The sirens sounded, the breach wasn’t just a breach. It was a nuclear melt down. Just like the meltdown steve felt in his head as the gun went off. Elsa was right behind him following him after a hug and kiss. Elsa got to taste a bit of it, as brain fragments, blood, bone hair showered her face. Her screaming mouth filled with Steve's head. She swallowed it down, thinking "now your inside me forever my love."

Seconds later the nuclear plant followed suit, and exploded like Steve's head.

                   Dark spheres and all their question marks.

They said we would never make it to mars, let alone out our front doors. But here we were, staring at a field of rotting corpses, the ground had turned red. Stones here and there in peculiar rows, fallen down burnt trees with half eaten headless rabbits. Strangely enough we had gotten used to it, to all of it, we didnt even notice.

There had been tales passed down for generations, going so far back we didnt even know where they came from. But somehow we believed them, every single word of it, every single tale. It was like the trails we walked down everyday with our callused feet, arthritic hips and limps. Like fingernails and eyelashes, we didnt understand them, their gloomy whisking.

There was a man though, that knew it all. Not the source but the information. He would recite it to us everyday, every hour, every time we looked at him. It wasnt until one man pulled out all of his eyelashes and fingernail publicly as we watched that it occurred to us. 

Maybe its all a fairy tale, maybe this wasnt earth, maybe those things arent feet, fingernails, eyelashes, arthritis? So what were they?

Over time, it was decided, that we had forgotten where all of this knowledge had came from. But we hadnt forgetten the knowledge itself. Maybe, that reciting man made it all up, maybe he was just crazy, maybe he had just stood there forever doing what he did? Maybe time is relative and perspective is just a way to cling to what we think is truth? 

So, what would that matter anyway? Would anything change?

Then it happened, the ground turned red, people started dying like seconds ticking away on the clocks. Then someone suggested that we destroy the clocks, burn the trees, eat the heads of all the rabbits. So we did, thats how we became Martians. 

Like that experiment, the one where the guy makes the dogs salivate with a bell, life was like that. It had become instinct some said, to walk the paths, drink from the fountains, eat from the tin cans. Dance in the smoke filled rooms with mirrors.

But, now the ground was red, the fountains greenish moth soup, the trails hidden by burned and fallen trees, headless rabbits everywhere. 

So all instinct was lost, all knowledge forgotten.

Is life better on mars, maybe.

B--------(-->-)--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------[

In 1672 an Italian writer wrote a story about a man who could see other dimensions and his own at the same time. It was described as a story where, "the future, the past, the present, and the potential is scene as a smeared pool of ink." Of course the book is banned, it was deemed absurd and perverse. One critic states, "its like surgically making a penis into a vagina, then a penis could be inserted into the former penis that is now a vagina." But the critic was actually the writer pretending to be a critic who had seen the future, past, present but lacked potential, that writer had just invented marketing hype.

Although the Italian writers name is unknown rumors spread like wild fire. Everyone was looking for the book, the writer. Everyone wanted to know about this whole penis future present past potential surgery. Word had leaked that he could be scene wearing a green jacket in the red light district. Many men were lynched, laid, or held hostage in the conquest for the writer. Questions were being asked about the length and depth of the writing itself. Even a reward was posted in the streets for the writer and his ink.

Then atlast a page surfaced, hand written, the ink a bit smeared from moisture. 5 paragraphs and 3 sentences, on this page. At the top of the page 4 symbols were drawn in red, but the meaning or origin of these symbols were unknown. 

The person who had made this page public was a poor servant boy dressed in rags and green slippers. The servant boy said his master, who the boy was very loyal to, had told him to let everyone read this page. The handwriting was stunning calligraphy, the paper hand pressed, probably Persian. What was written on the page was baffling, confusing, and beautiful. 

The first paragraph was very descriptive, the second erotic, the third imbecile, the fourth breath taking, the fifth bleak and hallowing. But the last 3 sentences we where the trouble began and ended. It was a confession, a lie, a spoof, a falicy of the worst nature. Some of the words contained syllables, letters, the sentences had punctuation at times but it was all just made up, eventually published, then banned.

 I found a letter in the bottom of and old desk. The desk had been abandon, there wasn’t much left of it. But what do you expect when its out in the middle of the desert getting covered with bird shit. I pulled out a drawer, I was looking for firewood, kindling, something. The drawer was kind of stuck so I yanked, it came out shattering like I had hit it with a semi truck. When I looked inside where the drawer came from i found a picture. The picture was black and white, it looked ancient. The woman in the picture looked young, maybe in her twenties, probably just married, just graduated, something. Then I saw a scrap of paper in the drawer hole, it was old, brittle, I thought it would turn to dust if I wasn’t careful. This is what the paper said:

I buried you in the old oak grove

for the trees to have your bones,

to make their leaves.

So I could see you again.

And the bedroom floor looks like autumn,

if leaves were pictures.

Yellow streaks and dark smears, from age.

Just how you left us.

Sometimes I stair at the sky,

hoping to hear you call my name.

But its always cold wind blowing through my hair.

In the graveyard past all the unmarked graves,

I'll wait for you.

I'll wait for you.