wordy word mcword

fingers set on keys. brain is turned off. let's see where this goes...

two days ago i stepped into a world that was hidden underneath my sink. i wasn't sure what i'd find there. i considered the eventuality that i would find a cowboy or an indian, or maybe just a bottle of bourbon. instead, all i found were pipes and plastic bags. there is no magic under my sink. there is a mound of used grocery bags that are waiting for their opportunity to be useful once again, even if it is only to hold garbage for a few days before being sent on a trip down the garbage chute. the bags are completely silent. they don't sing to pass the time. they don't play games, or wonder aloud at the mundane routine of days. the bags are motionless and emotionless. they are plastic, crinkled and thin. sitting in the darkness until the light floods in to take one from their midst, or until a rush of water races through the pipe above them. water cool or hot, changing the temperature of the pipe, changing the temperature of the space in between. the empty space that molds itself around the bags and the pipe, becoming one with both. transmogrifying until everything under the sink is one substance. the space in between is where the magic is held.

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pickle blue. pickle brine. pickle once before it's time. call the devil. call an angel. call us back to meet a stranger. lose your taste. lose your mind. lose it all and you will find, that dance is here, and the rhythm is me. dance once more and you will see.

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the room is dark, and asks for intimacy. the curtains cover your eyes and bathe your skin in the color of nordic ice. a color so cold, and smooth and pure, it holds you until you are sure that nothing can harm you, if you truly believe. one plus one is two, and two plus one is three.

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alone in a room with no space to lie down. limbs reaching out, trying to stretch, but finding no space. only barriers and obstacles, and laughing sneers. holding back a cry of frustration. looking for a window, a way to view the outside. a way to escape, even just to imagination. a way to find a better world. one in which the greatest barriers do not come from within.

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zoomflash eyes passing on a street corner. whipcrack hips sliding away. i want to smile and say hello. but my shaking chihuahua heart clenches tightly. and my molasses mouth misses the opportunity. only to send the smile to an unsuspecting bystander farther along the street. who knows nothing of your plum juicy lips, and metaphor allure.

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dominoes falling one by one. no numbers matching, nothing making sense. just tiles falling one after another. falling on top of each other, falling haphazardly, falling with the quiet abandon of an autumn leaf.

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the thoughts in my head do not belong to anyone. they don't even belong to me. i only gain access to the most superficial ideas and feelings. anything deeper is buried in a maze of "what ifs" and "if onlys" and dreams of things that have never been. sometimes i feel like i'm still the same 13 year old boy, playing video games, and writing poetry that has no impact on anything. it is just a flow of words jettisoned from my gut. fire and spectacle and nothing more.

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a curious brown stain on the edge of the sink. evidence of a partner that doesn't exist. clues to a life lived outside my body.

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arms jittering and strange. hands finding combinations, cracking the code of the keyboard. if i press this sequence of keys, will it open a door? will it spark recognition in someone or something? will it lead me anywhere? will it lead you anywhere?