11:39 p.m. - 2004-04-26
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her car took her away
she was drunk and lost and joined the choir
born again she speaks excitedly of death
she tried to die
at ten
glued together but cracked
burning perpetually sinking by a terrible, terrible fire
she wrote books that kill their characters
and every book is aware of itself
written upside down and when you step into the bathroom
where the text is mirrored
her home makes the book's story contextual
she comes home
and slips back into him
as if she had never been away
It's a picture scene but its a chasm she has yet to get out of
the tutelage of your own voice
and the possibility that it is certainly
talking back at you
she is bespectacled and absent minded like a professor
and when she looks at you
she sees through the infinite kaleidoscopic telescope covered in
your glittering chagrin fog
screaming from a disastrous fire
her baby is burning
and below she is
planting the seed of her
next life
what is the smallest sized area of space...
That can exist solely as information?
below she is
wondering what a shit head she is...
below that
she was just abandoned and no one cared
and now below all of it
she is certain that no matter what happens next
no compensatory bend forward
will set herself forth
yea her fighting average will never be high enough
to beat the clock that wrote itself into her life
to escape the book that kills its own characters
