The Dripping Sink ( _______'s Husk)

The point of the _________ was to understand further what Fatherhood was. My son was just a son. My eyes just two, and empty. I didn't anticipate the following sequence; the moods between the beams of a Paris, Texas realm. __________  ________ was my professor that spring. __________ had the longest hair of all the women in the room most days. She wore hers in the low pony. Th'others wore top buns like morning breakfast pastries dripping with large egos that looked more like egg yolk if you ask me. I saw nothing but samurais. Fatherhood looked like the long end of a sword held suspended by my mother's gut. I wasn't fond of that side of her. It produced a somewhat unflattering anger within me. _________ was intrusive. But something in her salted corn husk hair bled me out of my feather bed, far further than the running water wore me down - the dripping sink. The fucking dripping sink.

A Dangerous Street In The Winter For Pedestrians

daub it on the rocks, over there
grab my gin and bring it to me on the porch
i'll sway over these stones until the music starts
in the basement
on the longest street

the rhodes is a marvelous thing

accomplice |əˈkämplis|

the twins were henchmen; [informal] sidekicks.

'Left,'

'Guess'

there wasn't a one remained to be troubled by nightmarish intellect.

The White Room (or, Disrupt Of The Womb)

'Describe your appetite, or at least, the force feed. I see the thickness of the tubes, vertical. Very vertically organized. The story, what was the story about?

'...'

'Your volume is uneasy, please focus on the volume.'

In The Barren Lands

As far as it will mind to go, dammit.
That's the problem with these things. They don't mind to get nowhere.

1946 January 20 - Present

The world is getting louder every year, 
but to sit and dream is a beautiful thing.

D. Lynch

carry beam whitening the ether sides, both tall with flair, romantic feelings between them, sharp steel always reoccurring forcefully and unwanted, isn't it. two youngs dating for red breath reason, both for mother and the step who's off this weekend business-ing prominently and resourcefully. no phone call no letters, in fact pens extinct by now. some breeze heavy with tin soil trash melt the alley above the strays and loose fur pets, don't touch don't even look; rabies futuristic rabies. she lowers her pasty thumb out the pocket and soon all four others down to touch the gray. sores immediately, swollen tongue, but well hidden. clever thing wants what it was down there, twisted, angry, breathing slow. intimidating for some who don't go out much anymore, but not between. understand the stroke and weather the calm, weather the rain. at least another three hours under the garbage dream. four eyes all showing wet, all showered with ash. round again to the tall where slow light is indeed slow and spies them only after they've gone too empty a song for such a time. it's flown by now tipped off and without so much a spat farewell pattern. vapor metal doesn't melt, it follows bending, leading them home, away from the wet breathing thing, away from each other. home is this empty hallway, hoarse leather cud, heat by mantel dream.

before sleep among the last thoughts of day,

when I close my eyes this time the distance between my fists is measured by miles and there are valleys absorbed in reflection of steam and steel, absorbing itself in forms of tectonic mission unearthly crude vast expansions between my two fists with my eyes closed

I feel sea sick or motion sick with the tide my breathing is steady but warns the guests with reaching ache lungs - really no one is between them now at all and I could open them and shrink the scape

absorbing itself between crude fists now the eyes are open fists remain fists.
really no one is between shrinking the scape open steady she goes wide unearthly tin cylinders about,
one more shut before the last oscillation measured in miles of steam itself nauseous but shifting impressively

by my standards.

Are You Ever Going To Get Married

 Greek Vines Vs. The Forewarning God by hannahcarpenterpitkin