ok. let's create an atlas. the grid lines will go from near to far, past to present. the scale expressed as a ratio of me to you. ready. set. go.

man of the moment. as patriarch, he is strong and holds the attention and esteem of his audience. his words carry on like machine punctual energy. you watch from a distance. his breath is familial comfort. the smell of his sperm. he sees you, he looks into you and says you don't matter. he shrinks, becomes a child monk and walks inside a miniature temple and disappears. you are curious to follow but notice there is a train of blood.

you waited all day for him to come. you picked a hang nail, and the blood has crusted over. you find an empty room and fill it with earth. invite me. we can be silent.

hear the birds, they are screaming. see the wand. watch the lumps on your belly form. is there a hand. is there a throne? swallow the mucus, watch the wound heal. caress the air, the sand. we are the land. we are death.

our bodies are stacked. for the purpose of making love. i can't find your hole. and you've found the wrong one of mine. singing sounds in the hallways echo and faze. remember i was on a swing. on the way up you i saw the sun. you smiled. an old bum shouted "i forgive you!"

can't find a match to ignite this load of remains. will we recall a past of earth or ash? have you the gaul to discover which faces are hiding between my ribs, in the folds of my knees? it was only this morning you noticed the bony landmarks of a bruised fruit. where scorched flesh reveals a delicate light, i meant to travel with you someday.