You're just impossible these days, did you know that? You can try to deny it and I can try to mask my anger, but we both know better. I believe I saw you pay a man $20 once to look my way so you didn't have to. You're the brother who went away to college and didn't ever phone or write or visit. Except you're not in Ohio or Michigan or Alaska. You're right here, right in front of me. Still you refuse to acknowledge this tear you've been so very careful to rip in me so that I wouldn't notice until your fingers weren't busying themselves with it.

I believe it's a nest you've built yourself, and how clever you were to do so. I've made sure to furnish it fully for you. You can see the gauzy flesh creeping its way over to try and cover what we've now together created, but quickly it is torn away like so many layers before it.

We're both looking a bit window washed, don't you agree? Look here, someone forgot to rinse you and the soap's getting in your eyes. Such poor care they take of us creatures. Mind the bucket dear, that you don't tip it over. I don't like to do much bending these days.

I would tell you to hurry along, but it looks like faithfully, predictably, you've already done so. Take note, your nest and I are sleeping in the same place we have been, just waiting. So when you're ready, you're welcome back. Always and always are you welcome and wished back.

Although they can't seem to make it 10 yards from their cage without becoming broken, bent, and all around worn out, they made good of what they were trying to be from what they really were. See, well, see. That's a funny choice of a word. Because really, it's all they can do. But you know, maybe...I guess that's alright. They don't have to commatize your phrases with their own, well... they can't, actually. But speaking from a humans point of view, we should learn to be more like them. Or I should, rather.

Could you say that slower, please? Maybe...with less words?
You're overwhelming me, and I can't really hear in this ear right now so,
hey. HEY! Stop. Inexplicably you've moved me to tears. you're not
supposed to have that kind of power. I was supposed to have
forgotten about you. You're still talking? No wonder.
Just, your timing is worse than ever you know! Seas
when there should be drought and not a drop when
we've all but died. It feels finished now.

Your eyes are crossed. I never noticed until now.

I never took the time to sit with you and ask why you liked poppies, and whistles, and the smell of cinnamon. It's a nice smell, that.

I'm holding that little leather pouch you used to carry. I remember the first time I opened it. I was upset because someone had set fire to the lavender field, and I hadn't the chance to pick you any, so instead of bringing you flowers I went home and found this. Matchstick people you had made, and with such care. Each had their own expression, carefuly constructed and made different by the bend in their brow or smile.

You were always like that. Giving a different hint of life to everything. Each word from you could be seen dancing and bending its way to the listener's ear, hands fluttering to accompany, lilting with the air.

The sky has just started setting orange, you know. If I climb up on my roof I can just barely brush it with my fingers. Truth is, it burns, but it reminds me of you, so it's okay.

No, no, that sounds horrible. What I mean to say is it reminds me of your hands. I never needed a bandage or mittens with your hands around. I'd only need to ask and yours would engulf mine, absorb whatever was the matter. I don't mean to sound tragic, but without, mine just seem so small and strange. So sad.

I have to go now, but the lavender is coming back this spring, and I promise I'll bring you some. No one ever thinks to bring flowers in the spring, its too typical. Reverse psychology, really.

This whole thing, it is in theory, right?

I mean, what else besides a hypothetical situation would warrant such a question?
You're way out of bounds here. You don't have the passcode and I am not. You're a thief.

Try again next year.

I haven't a name,
nor a face,
nor a voice.

I cannot shield you from the cold
I cannot hearken to what you may or may not speak.
Idly: here, I am.

It is only time
and only hope
that could waste their patience knowing.

walk on, fair friend
walk past and far from here.

I mean only harm
and deal only in numbers.

Miss, take me and you'll carry me forever.
Shrew and me a merry heathen, damned.

Free form to fall away from,
that's what I've given you.

What have you to offer me?

Where I come from, they don't ask if you're okay.

They tear you out of your chair at dinnertime and drag you around to back and shoot you.

Huh, they don't even bother to clean up after themselves.

You'd think those damn Brits would know what a napkin was.

We are your limelight, we are your children, and we are your harshest critics.

but we are not your playthings.

Draw in those tassels with which we could pull the layer of oil from your voice. Do, dear. They're only a hazard to you now. You're not fooling us anymore. Endearing though you once were, it was a mistake to show us everything.

You never tell someone everything.

Pray though, do tell what you were planning. Before we wrecked our ship, that is. Ah, refrain. It is only we who serve you with our words sublime. 'Tis and endless cesspool that we indeed create, from which you pull your inspiration. It is only us for you who bite the finishing thread in the tapestry. Forgive us, we'd forgotten. How quick you were to remind us of this one way street. Oh that was a marvelous crash.


You'd do well to remember we can scratch to scar but choose instead to wipe your eyes. We know your hands are too callused to do such intricate work. See still how we remain? You have kicked and beaten us in turn but stationary we sit. The only difference is in our eyes.

One may find a sharper vision is upon their person after watching you for so long. They will eventually become yours when your own have dried out. That'll be the third pair...such carelessness.

Perhaps that was intended? Your aim, love? That we think you such a scoundrel that we should leave you here to rot, alone?

After all, it is alone the best you breathe out your fire onto all things. It's where we are created. The most splendid tendrils of a grin rise up from your mouth with each fistful of a world you have made. It's in a mountain of ash you find yourself the next morning. Still they love you.

It is now that you have left us with our eyes, such an opportune time, and with all the knowing that none have possessed before us. It is the very same steel in our backs that has allowed us this knowing that burdens and bars us from spreading it to every corner of this planet.

But do you think that means we ourselves will ever again risk missing the show?

I would die for every last one of you standing...and sitting, before me.

No, of course it's not because I think you'd do the same for me, that's awful.

How selfish.

You honestly think I would ask you to save me? Me, when the cost is at the expense of your own dears that need protecting? There's not a single soul here ready to give that up.

I can tell from your eyes.

But see, I don't have to worry. I can afford to die in each of your places. I only have you guys to lose.

And I needn't think of what would happen to you if I were to go away. You would take care of each other, break and heal as one.

So when the time comes that you should truly need me, I'll be more than willing.

But until then, humor me and piss off.

The string holding the curtains together has no sense of the tautness it once knew.
It's frayed and rather slack now. The neighborhood children like to peep in.
There's nothing a much interest in here, but still they linger. I think they see the gray clinging to everything and wonder where it came from.

Yet, it's in uncertainty that I see their faces form the surest of creases. They know what they saw.

An electric current runs through this building and arches its spine. The air it breathes shimmers and it's mouth rips apart to utter what it has seen.

When they grow to meet my age and shake its hand, they'll remember.

But not now. No. Now they will wake amidst clean cotton and shake the sleep from their heads. They will rise when they day bids they do so, and they will go, and they will-

She's not been around much, has she?

She's sorry. She knows there's a phantom where her feet used to press into the carpet.

She thinks you hate her, deep down. She knows it, in fact. You told her once.

She watched your eyes for directions and warnings. She's only seen the sun's reflection in them thrice. She keeps a notebook with tally marks.

Her enthusiasm has atrophied, you know? Along with most of her branches.

Less and less has she enjoyed the company of those seeking shade from the noon harshes.

But she discovered, wilt slowly enough and no one notices until the day they wake up and the smell of flowers is gone completely.

Then they merely find a new tree.

You open your mouth and your throat distends due to the mountain of words which could not file out quickly enough. "Drill a hole and climb on through!" say the whys in the back.

The whats start digging. Hey, whoa now, that's an awful lot of space for such little whats, is that completely neccessary? "There are a lot of us down here" say the whos.

The whys rudely shove their way out past the whats, tumble down your favorite shirt, clearly marking their path on the way down.

"Hey!" say the whens, "wait your turn!"

What an overwhelming crowd you have in there!

The wheres plomp themselves down calmly in the back, and watch the ruckus of whos and whats cavorting around on the ground in front of you. You wish they would stop telling everyone that.

Why do they have to know that?! You try to catch the whys and swallow them back to safety, but the whens are blocking the entrance.

You're starting to have trouble breathing, and everyone's looking at you real strange.

You close your mouth.

Notice as we pass the more I sound like you.
an imprint on my spine, my soles, my memories
this is something that you can't undo.
It's all I can do to watch you steeping in these pieces.

There are some cracks and stains I didn't notice before
but take away the expensive lighting and what else would you get?
Spend a lifetime on the upwards
but don't forget to dive.

I can hear your voice and feel you beating underneath my fingertips
it's all I need once in a while, and sometimes is just fine with me.

Do you even realize how you sound right now?

I remember you. And you've forgotten what I know. What you taught me.

I remember your shadows. I can still see them lurking, a constant. Don't you try and shine that damn fool light on them, I will break each and every bulb.

I will break you.

Stop trying to stand up. Could you just be honest with me?

Lose the smirk. I hear your demons scratching at the back of your throat, and you're not scaring anyone but yourself anymore.

Perhaps everyone else likes to pretend they don't see you curled in upon yourself, tracing out a cannibalism you thought you'd gotten rid of. It's always you on the paper.

Maybe they really don't see it. Oh, I pity you.

It's never going to go away, this sickness. Hell, I'm never going to go away.

The sooner you accept all of this the sooner I can help you, or spit at you, or let whatever that's going to happen happen.

So please, can we just get this over with?

Even though most of the time I like to keep my tongue fluttering behind my teeth

it's nice to yell when I'm alone.

Sometimes I'd much rather live under a rock. You know, if there was like bacteria to keep me company.

I'll be needing a roommate. Someone to talk to.
eukaryotes don't talk back.

Walk two moons

Oh, there you are.

There's a new moon out tonight.

But it was just whole last night.

Yes, it was.

That's scientifically impossible, Lily.

Hasn't anyone told you? There's two of them now.

So I'm not crazy?

No, don't worry. Some people even see three or four.
Having two up there is enough to make anyone cry;
I don't know how they handle it.

Her eyes flashed me a warning last night:
She told me to tell you to be careful.

I know. I only looked up once, I don't want him to know I saw.

It's hard to tear away though, I've never seen her kiss the stars,
or invite anyone to join her. She's becoming cold.

She's grieving.

His rays are different, tender almost. They love to play across my shoulder blades.
Sometimes when the roof is between he and I,
I can't help but smile at the thought of dancing beneath him tomorrow,

Lily, no.

But then I look to the East and she's still there, constant...stoic.
It took a while to conjure my truth and my only
with the taste of silver tingling beneath my tongue.

Silver. Lily, you've become prey.

I worried that she'd developed another pockmark watching me;
that I'd be watching her light snuff out with my next breath.

She's lost so many to him already.

So I held it until I could talk to her again.

But you look to be alive.

Well, I cheated. I had to breathe if I was ever going to climb
the vines to our meeting place on my home.
Don't think I don't feel guilty about it, already having strayed.
I could have cried when she smiled.
It's been two months since she's taken it out of her drawers.
I'd begun to think she was saving it for someone else.

She loves you, Lily, you know that.

But does understand how deeply I am bound to her?

I'm su-

I haven't told her. I haven't shown her. She needs a world fit to shine,
I could never give her that. Countless times I've pointed skywards,
only to be met with blank stares.

They don't see her.

I'm stripped and raw and bleeding.
the only love she'll ever be touched with is my own.
even now my skin's aflame!
She's dying without them, and you're telling me
they don't see her?! I said she's dying up there!

They're blind, darling. You have to understand
not even I have seen her clearly. I live too close to the new moon now.
He's got tricks for each of us.

No, not you...please. She's so scared.

This could be the last time we speak, Lily, he's pulling me in.
So you have to listen.
You're the only one of us who's resisted for this long.
You're the only one who can see her anymore,
possible the only one who's ever seen her face.

I struggle, ha, no, that's far too mild.
You know when a constellation blinks out for good, how you hear the world slung on it's own shoulder, heaving it's lament?
How the careening screech of metal and gears surrounds you when the machine keeping your dearest alive stop for good?
Do you remember having your soul ripped away from you?

imagining her alone is much, much worse.

She's told me I am enough, but I can't begin to believe her.
How could this starscreecher, a goliath,
think I wouldn't see the sorrow behind her eyes?

She could cry galaxies.

She wasn't lying, she just might not believe it yet.
You can't blame a monolith for grieving when it's facing it's death.

Give her everything you have, forget us.

He's not stopping until he takes everyone, is he?

We're waning fast, and we're not coming back.

We'll save you a spot in the infinite, dear.

You know, this is the closest I've come to that year in a very, very long time. The anticipation lacks soul though.

It's like this: A single Autumn leaf shivers to the ground, where the wind,
inexplicable in it's intoxicating scented spikes, picks it up and drops it outside of a bookstore.
Now the bookstore, oh, that's where the magic is.

The pages all smell like the trees they were made of, that is to say a nondescript mix of several,
and that's okay. I love that smell. Not as good as the shoe scuffed carpet, but close.

You find this one book, maybe it's dog-eared, its jacket is a little torn, or even missing,
and the spine's a bit warped, like a true scoliositastic book should be. It's in the most unlikely of places, under the 13th edition printing of a well used history book,
at the bottom of the lost-and-forgottens,
when it hits you.

Your fingers sing along the traces of gold pateen left in the crooks of the title,
reveling in their familiarity. It's not that you remember it, or have even ever graced the cover with a glance, but you've found it. One of those books.
Your grandchildren are going to find it tucked under a floor board with a tin of needles and crayons...the square kind.

Breathe deeply, remember the heady smell of newly turned dirt, feel it under your nails
Look up, see the silver dollar moon and reflect it in your heart.
Whisper back when the breeze tells you a secret.
Please don't forget this.

We can't even make eye contact, who are we kidding? Must we keep meeting on these cold concrete benches? I just want to talk to you, just for a second. Stop running away.

Okay, listen, we do even have to talk! We could just sit, on seperate benches even.

Though, I do hate this quietness I've adopted near you. It's just, do you even care?
I feel overcome by your endless stream of words, your pinstriped nonsense!
But then you decide to come out, stark naked. I'm never sure what to say, your speech bests mine.
Could I just nod? Or move closer or something, I'm going mad here.

Sometimes my cheeks and tongue feel swollen, cause the words and thoughts are all clogged up,
it's almost a superball in there.
and it's like I could swallow my marshmallow tongue, but it's...well, hard to explain, for one.
But it won't go. I just sit here staring downwards, and it hurts.
Please understand, and please, please don't go. I feel like the strings are already cut,
and your face has looked sullen and determinedly blank lately. I love you, I worry about you.

All my words are turning into pictures again, but my pencils are turning into keyboards. It's pesky business.

It's strange, this skidded knee feeling. I like it, 'cause it means I fell, which means I must have been doing something worthwhile to get my knees all scraped up. It tickles and itches since it's healing, but still, something is amiss, like there's a line in my skin that wasn't there before.

Too bad Shiva didn't feel like donating a few of her arms to the needy artists, we'd be in business, let me tell you.

Could we sit for awhile, across from each other sometime? I'd like to trace the arc of your smile.

My fingers are clay sausages.

I think you're slipping.

Come 'ere. We're gonna be late!

Your shoes are untied, and your dress is unzipped, Livy. That's the third time you've taken out your pigtails. Let's try a braid this time. Oh no, you're not getting eyeshadow, you'll smudge it all off before five minutes have passed.

Stop biting your fingernails! Buckle your seat belt. Must you keep tapping your foot like that?

Finally, I think we made it just in time!
Livy, sit straight. Stop fidgeting, quit biting your lip, uncross your legs, look up ahead, smile once in a while, goodness, you're a lady, not a giraffe, quit craning your neck.

Ohhh, no. I've forgotten their gift. Oh, I'll just express mail it to them. It's not like they need a self warming fondue double boiler for their honeymoon activities. Unless they're Mormon, oh god, are they Mormon?

Tired of being alone? Tough shit, turns out it's life. You wake up one morning and feel like dying so you go back to sleep, try to shake it off. No good, so you get up and have some eggs on toast. That only jogs your memory with the dream you've been having. Some deathly depressing scenes about your family you hate, and the earlier theme of running away was no help. You only made everyone sad.

And I do so hate when everyone's sad. You know that cute smug smile that breaks across your freckled nose like sunshine or something else real nice on a sunny mosquito filled afternoon? I live for that. Which is funny, since it's why I'm curled up in my tummy now, cause that's missing. That happens so often. Then when there's a real nice scene on the telly and it gets happy again, and it's like spraying breath freshener in it, that same tingle and swoop. Then it goes away real quick again, when I turn to my left, giggling, and you're not there returning the feeling.

Just like how food's that much better when it's someone elses, all those moments are 15% of what they could have been, cause our laughter is such a mirror, bouncing the good times back and forth.

You won't ride bikes with me, or go to the park, or hold hands, and damn it if you're going to sit still long enough for me to get a good look at you and have you really look back and see me.

Sometimes I like to watch our feet
hit the ground at the same time, or hear the same phrase uttered, or share a sip of coke as a direct result of that. You never take it the same way, and sometimes that's okay, cause how else are we to keep any company around? Mostly though it just sucks. And I curl up in my belly again, and the moon hides for a real long time.

We were both dressed to the nines, sitting on the edge of that picnic table. There were dinosaur sprinkles and everything. The whole shabang.

We even danced in the kitchen, he dipped me.

When I took that Christmas tree air freshener from the store, he covered for me, and we flew away when they pursued.

We make a regular old Bonnie and Clyde, I tell ya, and I'll love him forever, down to the last freckle.

But it's not you, and it's not right.

Sometimes I feel like the moon.

I'm a hole again.

I know people on the outside, on the other side.

As fate, or, what is more likely some scheming devils would have it, the building of management was burnt down some time ago.

I had everything crossed against that, too.
Upon arriving I fought the urge to cry, and as per usual turned it instead into that awkward silence.

There's a small square blue tin that houses a fist full of Mgmt's ashes,

Just in case.

and for now, at least, it will be kept hidden behind the books and the faces of reason.

If staff decides to rebuild on a new location, if anything at all changes:
Have your people call my people, we'll do lunch.

Radio: deactivated

I'm searching the air waves for that station, ready to tune to it. Every once in a while I'll pick up a trace of that familiar voice from the 11 o'clock news, but just as quickly it vanishes again.

I do wish the station would pick some regular broadcast hours, you know.
It'd make tuning in and turning up the volume a heck of a lot easier.

I expect soon to be marching into the offices myself and giving the manager a good talking to.

Hopefully they'll be there to listen, and I won't chicken out and leave a note and contact number with the secretary again.

For now I've got my Private Radio.

Do do doodoo do.

You're SUCH a little girl.

Life story:

CHILL THE FUCK OUT. Throw shit off that cliff.