stagnanTVowels

fig.97) "The porous edges of cinema may yet be redeemed or resolved."  Juniper, cedar and all that's old tends to settle on the bus in the corner by this door. It's not quick, joints are popping like failure. Left alone in the kitchen, looking for matches until it can light the stove. "There once was a night here," I've said as much before. Corn conjured syrup from the corn that I brought from the back of the store. The simple pleasure of falling into that warm slip isn't like drying off or tempting the man at all. It's a lottery with pages of never knowing it all the first time that I was there. A three way intersection where the street is wet. There's shrink-wrap that's been spooled across each of the pedestrian walkways. It's secured with bulky knots to the street lamp, the sign post and the scooter at each of the corners. There's a garage door or something else done up in yellow with blue steel doors. In the street the...

fig.6) simple as pallbearers "She's not very nasty is she? Instead, she seems to be transformed by language and it's osmotic character." Tis toil and toil for dust alone. Birds in the vacuum that won't shut up. They squawk about their guns. Can't sleep with the vacuum on. Can't sleep when I sit. Maybe, I'm too clever for this? Sift softly, the humble beginnings of science's toil, it's ring of equivalency, the mechanism of culture's boisterous metric. The boon of its breast and all. This flower, that flower and over there, that one too. These flowers, they're not so hard to reach. They're still young and fresh, well held in the sponge of this dirt. Time is only spent well when it's well and truly spent, the birds know this. They know that laundry is a plaything, lunch is only a friend.  Little bird is being a bitch now, "But I'm ok, sometimes I beat the ground with my fists. I'm tired but that's ok t...