innommé

Immortal Beloved,

In my most distorted fantasies, I fancy that in some regard, my love for you is requited. I have repassed quite often the time I spent with you, and you have become a lead in the plays performed in my sleep. I hope that this letter will have reached you before I regret writing it; I simply must express through some medium that you frequent my thoughts.

Ever yours,
D.B.

pas un pas

within a mixture of heels where ankles bend and toes distend, the souls begin to grin and grind and they become a sound, a plea, the criers cry aloud and louder than they had before. their requests, all transient, i hear thereof, and sink. when morning spins them back again, their heels will click as they retreat. they run, they sing, they play a game with esoteric rules and never any spectators, but while i watch i play along. then the thoughts come, unnecessary, unappreciated, under cautious conscious and weighty bondage. (record) null (stop)

atteindre

blinking on and off, as if to get noticed. your extensions are admirable, but made with dead tissue. thereby, invalid. not even close, real, true, extant. stretch one more inch, and reach one more dead line. the line when wrought shall be ripped down, and down with it comes a wall with your highness. pain is nowhere around, not to be found. find that, i say, and find what you mean when you claim to exist. to recite, this plan is a second-class struggle, all the way to the paperwork, and the bent paper clips you employed as integration. pull one page off, one less frame, take one main. leaves fall soft and sound. not a word, not a sound, not a noise to be heard. not one person's hands got dirty with this work.

enfin

gonna stay 18 forever...

j'étais

you're close enough to touch, but i won't.
i'd rather keep you clean and pretty.
i sit, content to reminisce
on little bits of time, of my life,
idling minds, binding by their decline.
and i submit, as the west gets jealous.
cause i came undone, the sun was empty.
and now it's nothing, just like dust.
it failed us all, and we'd be grateful
for one more day of time, of light.

morceaux

ankles are breaking. the rain was grey like the mountain wind. what am i supposed to hold on to? say hello to hydrogen. characters and blood, nothing i can touch. the greatest dream come true is no longer enough. this is imaginable. this is wish fulfilment. this is a day, not a box that fits in my palm. if i concede defeat, can we please begin drafting our treaty? it feels good, feeling sorry for you.

embêtement

i have no patience left for your exasperation.