Tim sees in slow motion now,
since Dr. Kournivakis shaved his lens too far down.
At fifteen puberty
highlighted his awkward shapes,
but this strange lapse in surgery
redefined his fate.
A doctor at age seventeen
he decided to buy a brand new office:
set of scalpels,
nurses with brown eyes.
Squiggly but straight
and cut like knives,
waves of thought crashed
on Tim's head shore.
the enemy destroyed the city.
through whoever came,
and severed limbs
committed to precision
while the air-raid sirens sound.
No one understood how he never failed,
his patients never died and only few had scarred
it must have been
because he had such
penetrating gray eyes.
Then Tim received recognition
for new variations
on old proteins.
That assisted him in healing
damaged skin much faster.
The new empress appointed him
to be the first
director of health and human
Then quickly he learned
that human services
servicing the queen.
Once again he
used his slow motion super powers.
To help the needy.
All day he rubbed her
and her muscular back
each moment touching her
was divided by ten
and magnified in its displeasure.
feeling so proud of his
Benjamin typed away,
creating the northernmost coastline
that one day we'd all move to.
This fantasy ocean
that he was designing,
based on the artic he'd wanted to see.
He took notes on ice forms
and their complex structures.
All with respect
to our last battleship.
He wrote a recursion to handle
all the repetitive things:
the waves and the wind.
To build the starkness of the ocean
where it is cold and untamed
yet so solidly framed.
He tried to escape
all the throngs of
who had to know about
their new home.
and the desire to
see his creation
kept him constantly
We finally all left and we
went to start anew.
The thought became that Ben's assignment was through.
And all he could see were the
frowning new eyes
who now realized
how disappointing was the ocean:
all of it flat and contained,
and poorly maintained.
WHEN I TRY TO IMPRESS MY GIRLFRIENDS SOMETIMES THEY BURN TO DEATH OR DROWN IN VERY COLD WATER
she hadn't heard of the
movie of me.
And all of the drama I'd put into it.
It started with an ending
of a boy alone
But at the beginning
he was at home.
So Sarah bought candy from the
She brought it to the street where I had
popcorn to share.
Her face was smiling
at the scenes of me.
Somehow she was sitting next to me and
not sitting next to me.
Then the screen started shooting sparks.
And the seats trapped us within them
as the theater caught on fire.
Sarah was gripping her water tight.
on this second anniversary.
Growing up in winter
with my house just off a lake.
I watched her skate in circles
while the ice began to break.
And then she closed her eyes.
She can't come back.
Then Sarah was solarized
and both her cheeks turned from
pink to green.
As she watched me kiss Julie on the screen.
The smell was getting
very heavy with the fire
and all of the water was
Anger filled her green face.
Never to believe this would be our last date.
Her skin was shining
like a silver lake
as I watched Julie slowly sharpening
her brand new ice skates.
The fire started spreading fast.
Sarah took a drink of water
and my head was getting lighter.
That's just when the roof collapsed.
Sarah was dying and the film was melting it was a disaster.
No one would get to see the credits.
Or even see the ending
of a boy alone
for the fire department
to save his life.
All of the ladies
came out for the battle
as their husbands lined up
looked so strong
sun shiny morning
The men started absorbing light
red or blue outfits
Newly created soldiers gathered arms
repositioned their allegiances
with their new colors they
waved to who they thought loved them
Momentarily they positioned
the men with all of the largest stars insisted
So the soldiers
then attacked themselves
lost limbs and parts of face
looked so strong
heat of the battle
All of the ladies came to battle
(sun shiny morning)
Running through soil with flowers and blood
the avenue to victory is filled with rocks and mud
The women say
'I hope that my newly picked man can survive
I hope I can be with him'
I wanna extract your legs from the rest of your body
To place them on the girls
I think have better other parts
need distractions like your pale upper arms because
When I'm fucking you I am drunk
they bring out my bad side
I think about them and
how I will never love you
I don't need
an ugly unlovable girl in my bed tonight
And so I try to forget the way that I have seen you
disregarding the parts I know I could live without.
Though unfortunately it seems all that you are made of
Isn't good enough for me.
Except your tiny legs
Your tiny perfect legs
I'm gonna kill someone in the end
cut them up and make a brand new woman
Whisper to her describing her perfection
And how it never happened before I made her
Just a world of ugly un-segregated parts
But I know that I can't lead myself into such misthoughts
I can't kill you just to remove your prettiness
So I'll lie to you so that I can be next to
at least one thing I can love
Someone informed me
of a great feeling.
The feeler felt helpless,
and yet full of happiness.
She said “you need someone to love.”
And I wondered what kind of person
she was speaking of.
So clueless to the outcome
I made her specifications:
a willingness to care.
I thought light bulbs would do
for her pearlies.
Dust to run her fingers through,
feathers and cuticles to.
gathered these things
into a cloth,
inserted several stitches,
it became something different.
Soon I wished
that it wasn't alive,
that it was a fantasy.
a million different women
with two million alive eyes,
and somehow I felt
I still had my own girl,
something to ridicule,
something to show the world.
So I entered her in
a “who's prettiest” race
we got to the end
when the judge said:
“What the hell's going on,
you're not real!
You're like a garage sale,
why are you even here?”
In a frantic state we left there,
we were silent driving home,
and I couldn't help but think that
we'd be better off alone.
Zero minutes and zero seconds later she faltered
Burned away her second egg, soliciting immediate scorn
The white had withered to spitty lubrication
the edges turned to dust,
she stopped the fire.
She walked away.
She looked into the trash can disgusted by her actions
and the way
screamed in her face.
She tried to fix her mistake by eating her failure.
she digested the cold and wet egg.
but still she had to think about how it was so unnerving
She'll figure out a way to cook it over-easy
so that it can pass the goopy test
and she won't ever have to eat garbage.
it didn't last
It flipped too early, it flipped too fast
it looked too gray and overcast
she worked at a place where (they couldn't love her ...)
(vst is trademark coca-cola classic walgreens was spinning when i went inside it and we all went to the washbasket to clean our clothes bunky's cafe is open everynight but mondays Tuesdays the woman parks on the street then to be gracious it cold there's a red bugle horn there that's used to make loud sounds it's sitting beside the can of pens and pencils there's a higliter there it doesn't belong
but i'm not sure)
The surgeon stroked the piece of flesh
the knife would soon cut through
fingers slowly reading underneath tautness
he was more than pleasantly surprised
at the uniqueness of the skin
It separated easily as though it had forseen
that enough pressure would divulge the contents
of the things that most wanted to remain concealed
they'd be shown to an unusually uncaring world
Slicing paths for the removal of
lumps which had invaded the walls of her intestinal tract
rehabilitating pink so helplessly underused
(in silence and silence and silence)
saw what no one had
the look of her internal organs surprised him with their shine
when he suddenly discovered this
he filled her with small cameras, to record all of her functions
he now could monitor her new intestines all of the time
Hadn't it seemed quiet,
alone with her?
And see her lungs breathing
Knowing he was needed
to keep her alive.
To see her veins
As he closed her and awakened her he
couldn't watch her
to what was inside:
those precious parts that allowed her
I am alive,
my eyes are
filled with signs and pictures.
And I try to nail down
why I am in love with certain words
while some I want
to somehow hurt.
I'm looking for pictures
of the things
I first fell for.
Yet I find it hard to
when everything seems to act like it could
turn into something else.
I just want one un-separable thing.
And I'll smile
all of the time.
I'll know whether to love
I'll know whether to try.
I'll have something
I can believe.
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