Words and other thoughts

the smaller they are the quicker it's over will you whip out your steno and snap shots of a scene that writes itself craft us a past that bears forgetting, at least 'til the world is too perfect, yet again what you've done exceeds the limits of all calculable miracles there are crimes we commit against ourselves so heinous any punishment would be a reward the image of your ex-wife your son, the darkest most unholy each strand of liquid soul you've phlebotomized today feels more like yesterday and tomorrow seems manageable pliable than the stones you throw against this wind this place, this near sighted eternity we call our words ...