Sunday, May 6, 2012

BACK OF A SILHOUETTE

It it is it is something it is something slapped together with reflections of glare beaming through a forehead turned down to the floor with unvacuumed neglected unfinished unwanted unanswered answered slathered in solutions wanted obsessed over finished done for.  Chunks of barrenness living out the one another of the one another's of the smashing of the merging of the bashing of the blowing chunks of one another's of the one another's of the grinding down into smaller chunks of barrenness crowded with necks stuck out into not enough space or time for emptiness.  Fingers picking at the staple in the carpet.  Unfinished obsessed with stillness pushed by rotating in the head along with whatever underneath outside putting both hands on the table and got something sticky on the palm of the right hand at the bottom of the palm near the end of the pinky muscle feel it in the folds pasted together now in the beginning of the wrist there's an end of it it it is it is something it is something slapped together with reflections of glare beaming through a forehead turned down to the floor unvacuumed neglected unfinished obsessed over finished done for.  Meanwhile back at the bed with an old set of sheets and their patterns of grid  patterns of smoke between yellowed teeth and a ceiling dripping gravy as a tongue and buds and posteriors of thoughts poked at the smoke-filled air pulling helplessly at its invisible and fragile threads that broke with each tongue thrust yearning for the TV dinner stuck to the canopy to fall back defying the gravity of need.  She he saw his her his a face several a few times with years stretches and stretches of chunks of barren emptiness merging together rubbing together whispering nonsense together unconsciously tired lagging behind faces the backs of ears necks stuck out into not enough space or time for emptiness empty faces his might fit into that one or the other one up under the ledge of the roof in the distance falling off in the abyss of the dusk between the end of the neighborhood and the desert.  Whatever he that she happened to be looking at through at the time another time got in and infected the whole miserable thing on the table sticking to the palm the right hand palm at the bottom of the palm near the end of the pinky muscle feel it in the folds pasted together now in the beginning of the wrist there's an end of it it it is it is something it is something slapped together with reflections of glare beaming through a forehead turned down to the floor unvacuumed neglected unfinished obsessed over finished done for.  Meanwhile back at the bed with an old set of sheets and their patterns of grid  patterns of smoke between yellowed teeth and a ceiling dripping gravy as a tongue and buds and posteriors of thoughts poked at the smoke-filled air pulling helplessly at its invisible and fragile threads that broke with each tongue thrust yearning for the TV dinner stuck to the canopy to fall back defying the gravity of need.  She he saw his her his a face several a few times with years stretches and stretches of chunks of barren emptiness merging together rubbing together whispering nonsense together unconsciously tired lagging behind faces the backs of ears necks stuck out into not enough space or time for emptiness empty faces his might fit into that one or the other one up under the ledge of the roof in the distance falling off into the abyss of the dusk down between the end of the neighborhood and the desert.  Brittle fragments  within the narrowing hallways of the unergodic led down the chutes of abandoned next chapters swallowed into another of the one another of the one another's after taste of regret taped to the back of the throat burning inside necks stuck out into not enough space or time for emptiness empty faces his might fit into that one or the other of another of the one another of the one another's after taste of regret.  A stick and a hole with hair on the edges leave them be diseases of memory close your eyes and snatch at something not long for this world rubbing against the dark side of this body of weeds pulled into it and returning to it and diminishing water sinking into the rotting crack between floods.  Is that where they are taken where they dump all the hollow amounts she can lower and lift her chin to conjure a hand on her another hand on her another one another of the one another's chunks of barrenness living out the one another of the one another's of the smashing of the merging of the bashing of the blowing chunks of one another's of the one another's of the grinding down into smaller chunks of barrenness crowded with necks stuck out that's where she first saw herself in a scrapbook on a shelf in a room under the sieve where she came in entered in fell in fit in is a back of a face where hers fits in forces hers into the sockets of another's walls one another's of the one another's walls one another's of the one another's one another's extensions sticking out sticking into sockets forces hers into the sockets of another's walls one another's of the one another's teeth grinding into smaller chunks of barrenness crowded with necks stuck out that's where she first saw herself in a scrapbook on a shelf in a room under the sieve where she came in entered in fell in fit in is a back of a face where hers fits in forces hers into the sockets of another's walls of the one another's of the one another's of the one another's walls.




- Max Stoltenberg

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