Maggie

Death a glass
Filled with
Doesn’t matter Maggie take
A sip
A breath
A blonde impertinence
I will wait
Luxuriate my precious doll
My manly vision
Ribbons, ribbons

a woman’s worth is a woman’s hurt

her loss for words
Signifies
It forwards

The notion of partnership
Good breeding, Virginity

A Man looks outward

a woman
Is looked upon
Inspected

It is all birthing
Or nothing
I admit I cannot make it out
Propertarian of mind
Deflect, own
Deflected

bells

the sound of death is bells

not the sound of dying, not the process

it's the sound of being 

dead

the sound is bells ringing

unheardly, gorgeous, purposeless 

not a wail or wimper
not from mouths

but bells just bells
the scent the touch the taste

of lifelessness is not

scents, touches, or tastes,

not bells the objects,

not their odors of corrosion, their cracks, their ammonian notes

but the stark felt absence of those

in the stark felt presence of the sound of
death is

are you waiting for
now
is this all about
was it
the fuck
is the meaning of this
will happen

can it be
shall we have
do you want
have i done
would it take
is it
should i do

have you heard
did you say
would you like

on the way to the end
i passed a servant of god
we pretended to not see each other
but then i arrived and felt lonesome
and couldn't go back

--

you're working hard every day
each night you try to sleep by listening to the rush of working hard every day
so you can try to sleep every night

--

moon world forming,
midnight, foaming,
starts to rise.
the heart, grieved, forlorning,
setting,
stoning, with the sun.

The imitations of life are gilded
and surrounded by an armamentarium
of mental ballasts,
advertorials of mind,
medicines and magazines,
and lord, so many photos.
They are icons, and they multiply.
Icons of icons of icons.

I'll stop defining myself.
In the Moorish style, my selfhood
won't be depicted, recursively, in myself,
yet I'll be hiding in plain sight
from you, from me,
in the interlaced patterns
on my temple's walls.

There's an endless story being told,
and the teller is the listener
is the protagonist.
He seems familiar, but I don't know him.
It is late, it is eternal.
I douse the fire, go to sleep,
and dream of nothing.

always, mirror, bruise

Relieved, believe the lie
believe the bored will never
sigh, but rapt and dazzled
always
- remain at your side

Why challenge the ruse
why decipher the trick
take the smoke and
mirror
- as a gentler magic

Hold fast to the joy
that holds fast to you
its grip and spreading
bruise
- are traces of the truth

monitoring

• live webcam footage of man grooming himself in bathroom mirror while muttering blandishments he learned from a self-help book
• subtitles [ (man speaking foreign language) ]
• scroll to settings, system, advanced, update system from package, insert black market drive w/ jailbreak file
• restart system
• return to webcam 200544
• man is gone, mirror empty
• subtitles [ ]
• man returns, spits out toothpaste, grins as if practicing being human, resumes muttering blithe self-affirmations 
• subtitles [you have nothing, nothing left, nothing but your sins, well, sins are enough aren't they, your actions must be paid, even to death, even beyond death]
• uninformative, change channel