below

the bellows down below the low tide ride the rhythmic strides of a heart attack packed in the back of '58 Chevy strafing a levee as it leaves late on the breeze blowing toward the vortex of fate where complex mental states are flexed over stalled engines washed ashore from the ocean floor covered in the dust of industries' rust compelling environmental distrust between land, sky, and sea asking why we still distill and refine petrol and coal to refill and fulfill our mechanic design that taints the brine of ocean water and maligns the air with chemical fodder fit to slaughter mother earth, father sun, and daughter moon fucked like so much tainted poon that soon they'll blow a hole in us with their collective wad and grow newly seeded corrective sod over our hardened weed-breeding mecha-garden

reduce

deduce and reduce. drink a cup of orange juice. what about the color puce? i don't what shade of loose chartreuse that is.

common

common. why am i so insulted? everyone is ordinary. but i am dying to be anything but. why do we ache to share things with people yet still remain unique and special?

common

what's the same between this and that, or you and me, or us and them? is there a commonality the strings us together like a sewing needle pulling Kevlar threads?

punch.

I would really like some Hawaiian Punch right now.

I don't remember the last time I had some.

punch.

Punch.

"What the fuck." Turn around. What the hell just happened?

Punch again.

Fall. Glimpse dirty sneakers.

Kick. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"You know what I'm talking about, you bastard."

"Up your Mom's asshole, you sick fuck."

Knife. Blackness. White.

glimpse

a glimpse of all that matters. can I see it? can I find it? I can name the infinite things that do not matter: bills, work, materialism… none of that bullshit matters in the grand-scheme-of-things. tell me what truly matters or show me why I should keep on keepin' on… just a whisper or a glimpse, please... before I give up.

calls

she calls my name with NutraSweet and recoil at the overwhelming taste. to sugary for its own good.

thread

break me down piece by piece until you find the fragile threads that hold my soul together. pick at them like guitar strings, my heartstrings cry out in pain. love was never meant to push or pull me this way. sew me back together... please.

three

three days 'til I collapse in a heart-wrenching format of a burnt out dos shell. a type of hell. just ascii characters and black background without pics or graphics. yet the simplicity of this hell is refreshing.

yet

i haven't felt the twinge of regret, yet. it will come and when it does the twinge will redouble itself and become hammer of guilt.

until

until all of the sand manages to work its way out of my bathing suit, thank you very much.

the chafing is a little too annoying.