inicio sindicaci;ón

Stegosaurus

Tell her about the dinosaurs and how extinct happened just a moment ago. That if she was paying attention she might have noticed.

Soft Spots

In the “curly qs” and stacatto spasms drawn by the conductor, an untrained ear sees perfection. Apprehends a solace.

The comfort is encouragement. The tragedy is the soft spot it reveals.

Who said we tell ourselves lies to keep on living?

Something like desire

to be fossilized and found later

a fish head in a pile of rocks.

The last one standing

There were a few of us. All standing in a line we were, wearing nothing special at the water’s edge. Single file, a deep breath, mouth shut, we walked in. Legs pulled against the slowing water and tangle of sea things.

Lobsters looked on.

With monkey faces we walked then climbed into the waiting whale’s mouth. With our knees tucked beneath our chins we rolled down. Soft and silvery. And there we sat. In the stomach. Holding hands.

Shut the fuck up

There are three options. None of which include pink icing.

Gigantic Supernova

“Thought to be on the verge of exploding
into a gigantic supernova,” some hesitated
over the prearranged dinner engagement.

Those chancy bastards who dared to sit and eat ate with piss running down their legs.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eta_Carinae

http://hubblesite.org/newscenter/archive/releases/1996/23

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2007/05/070508-supernova.html

There were a few things that became difficult for her. Things that were simple

before it happened.

Near to a soon ending

Last night the waves were big. I thought, “They might eat me.”

And so I gave a small start.

Behind the window, a room warmed by candles, a wood burning stove, and the respective body temperatures of those within, I sat. I measured the distance, wave mounted wave and the distance lessened.

The room expanded, warmed by heat, its walls pushed, inched
forward. Wave mounted wave. Shadow puppets played

against the wall. The distance lessened.

Into the heather

The first bog deadly walk and coast line scramble. Half sheared, bones, and lost sheep. Bad omens for an impromptu walk. Dead enders. Sharp descents. Pink granite handles cut into the rock. A full weight held.
Near slips and real ones. Effaced. The terrific Sublime. Unluckily Wordsworthian. Coleridge was elsewhere. Hung over the back of a horse. More likely, fallen off a chair.

Here

Sometimes there are seals. Always there are scones

and sheep.

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