a postscript :: magical museAmongst the sodden sheetsby
he leaves with her words
still moist on his fingertips.
False copies for the tongued
verses, signed by a poet,
post-scripted by a Thief.
Vacation Cecile strolled along the white sanded beaches of a forgotten island, frosted drink in hand, and wondered how an island could be forgotten if so many others knew where it was. All along the beach there were nicely dressed tourists, some with drink, others just holding hands, and still others wetting their feet in the surf. It was such a shame vacations couldn’t last forever.by
A handsome, well-tanned man picked his way along the beach toward Cecile. She smiled at him and they shook hands. “You look like you come here often,” she said.
“And you look like you never get out at all.” It would have been an insult but for the warm smile. It was infectious, because she found herself smiling as well. “So what are you escaping from?”
“Murder mystery,” she said with a shrug. “All these motives and opportunities have me overwhelmed
Elusive[door opens, hurried footsteps, door slams]by
Writer: [out of breath] Look, I don’t want to do this, but I’m going to have to start imposing curfews if you don’t start listening a bit more! I know you need your freedom, but can’t you be a little more considerate? I am responsible for everything you do, you know!
Muse: [stiffly] I’m sorry.
Writer: Are you?
Muse: …
Writer: No. I know that look. I’ve seen it too many times already.
Muse: But do you understand it? Can you comprehend me at all?
Writer: How can I? You don’t make sense! You’re so capricious – you taught me that word – and I can’t… I can’t even trust you.
Muse: …
Writer: Look, I’m not asking for much. Can’t you just… not hang out with her?
Muse: [muttered] What’s the matter, jealous?
Writer: What?!
Muse: I’m not sure I understood your request. What exactly is the issue at hand?
Writ
Muse Wanted‘Miss Weathers, you are being assigned a Muse by the department. Due to your rather…spotty record, we have decided this is a matter requiring some force. You and your muse; who is also under parole, must go through a three week trial period before acceptance or rejection is possible. ’by
Blaine frowned across at the uptight Unit assistant, the paper proclaiming her fate held loosely in her hand.
‘Three weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘No, no Miss Weathers we are not. It’s been three years now since you lost your muse and while we understand how difficult this must be for you, the Department has expectations to meet. We have been lenient with you, considering your…obvious talent. But enough is enough Miss Weathers. You can consider this your last chance.’
there is no elephantby
dear boy with dough-lined eyes,
i am sleeping on empty mattresses and waiting by the window. the ashtray is empty but the bathtub's still blue.
dear boy with frog-eared lungs,
today i cook pasta, spirals not wheels. the sauce is red instead of white. my left hand is empty. i call you and tell you these are things i'm willing to sacrifice.
dear boy with fire-glow lips,
there is moonshine in my veins. there is glycerin on my skin. even a devil's mile away we spark.
dear boy with caged-bull ribs,
there is no elephant in the room. there is a chest of drawers dated 1874. there is an empty nest. there are three blind mice. the zookeeper just left.
dear boy with mirror-grazed limbs,
yesterday i wrote you a letter, licked the envelope, dropped it in the mailbox. in three days your scar-ridden hands will slide along the edges and you'll pretend it's me. eyes closed.
a postscript :: magical museAmongst the sodden sheetsby
he leaves with her words
still moist on his fingertips.
False copies for the tongued
verses, signed by a poet,
post-scripted by a Thief.
Vacation Cecile strolled along the white sanded beaches of a forgotten island, frosted drink in hand, and wondered how an island could be forgotten if so many others knew where it was. All along the beach there were nicely dressed tourists, some with drink, others just holding hands, and still others wetting their feet in the surf. It was such a shame vacations couldn’t last forever.by
A handsome, well-tanned man picked his way along the beach toward Cecile. She smiled at him and they shook hands. “You look like you come here often,” she said.
“And you look like you never get out at all.” It would have been an insult but for the warm smile. It was infectious, because she found herself smiling as well. “So what are you escaping from?”
“Murder mystery,” she said with a shrug. “All these motives and opportunities have me overwhelmed
Elusive[door opens, hurried footsteps, door slams]by
Writer: [out of breath] Look, I don’t want to do this, but I’m going to have to start imposing curfews if you don’t start listening a bit more! I know you need your freedom, but can’t you be a little more considerate? I am responsible for everything you do, you know!
Muse: [stiffly] I’m sorry.
Writer: Are you?
Muse: …
Writer: No. I know that look. I’ve seen it too many times already.
Muse: But do you understand it? Can you comprehend me at all?
Writer: How can I? You don’t make sense! You’re so capricious – you taught me that word – and I can’t… I can’t even trust you.
Muse: …
Writer: Look, I’m not asking for much. Can’t you just… not hang out with her?
Muse: [muttered] What’s the matter, jealous?
Writer: What?!
Muse: I’m not sure I understood your request. What exactly is the issue at hand?
Writ
Muse Wanted‘Miss Weathers, you are being assigned a Muse by the department. Due to your rather…spotty record, we have decided this is a matter requiring some force. You and your muse; who is also under parole, must go through a three week trial period before acceptance or rejection is possible. ’by
Blaine frowned across at the uptight Unit assistant, the paper proclaiming her fate held loosely in her hand.
‘Three weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘No, no Miss Weathers we are not. It’s been three years now since you lost your muse and while we understand how difficult this must be for you, the Department has expectations to meet. We have been lenient with you, considering your…obvious talent. But enough is enough Miss Weathers. You can consider this your last chance.’
there is no elephantby
dear boy with dough-lined eyes,
i am sleeping on empty mattresses and waiting by the window. the ashtray is empty but the bathtub's still blue.
dear boy with frog-eared lungs,
today i cook pasta, spirals not wheels. the sauce is red instead of white. my left hand is empty. i call you and tell you these are things i'm willing to sacrifice.
dear boy with fire-glow lips,
there is moonshine in my veins. there is glycerin on my skin. even a devil's mile away we spark.
dear boy with caged-bull ribs,
there is no elephant in the room. there is a chest of drawers dated 1874. there is an empty nest. there are three blind mice. the zookeeper just left.
dear boy with mirror-grazed limbs,
yesterday i wrote you a letter, licked the envelope, dropped it in the mailbox. in three days your scar-ridden hands will slide along the edges and you'll pretend it's me. eyes closed.
a postscript :: magical museAmongst the sodden sheetsby
he leaves with her words
still moist on his fingertips.
False copies for the tongued
verses, signed by a poet,
post-scripted by a Thief.
Vacation Cecile strolled along the white sanded beaches of a forgotten island, frosted drink in hand, and wondered how an island could be forgotten if so many others knew where it was. All along the beach there were nicely dressed tourists, some with drink, others just holding hands, and still others wetting their feet in the surf. It was such a shame vacations couldn’t last forever.by
A handsome, well-tanned man picked his way along the beach toward Cecile. She smiled at him and they shook hands. “You look like you come here often,” she said.
“And you look like you never get out at all.” It would have been an insult but for the warm smile. It was infectious, because she found herself smiling as well. “So what are you escaping from?”
“Murder mystery,” she said with a shrug. “All these motives and opportunities have me overwhelmed
Elusive[door opens, hurried footsteps, door slams]by
Writer: [out of breath] Look, I don’t want to do this, but I’m going to have to start imposing curfews if you don’t start listening a bit more! I know you need your freedom, but can’t you be a little more considerate? I am responsible for everything you do, you know!
Muse: [stiffly] I’m sorry.
Writer: Are you?
Muse: …
Writer: No. I know that look. I’ve seen it too many times already.
Muse: But do you understand it? Can you comprehend me at all?
Writer: How can I? You don’t make sense! You’re so capricious – you taught me that word – and I can’t… I can’t even trust you.
Muse: …
Writer: Look, I’m not asking for much. Can’t you just… not hang out with her?
Muse: [muttered] What’s the matter, jealous?
Writer: What?!
Muse: I’m not sure I understood your request. What exactly is the issue at hand?
Writ
Muse Wanted‘Miss Weathers, you are being assigned a Muse by the department. Due to your rather…spotty record, we have decided this is a matter requiring some force. You and your muse; who is also under parole, must go through a three week trial period before acceptance or rejection is possible. ’by
Blaine frowned across at the uptight Unit assistant, the paper proclaiming her fate held loosely in her hand.
‘Three weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘No, no Miss Weathers we are not. It’s been three years now since you lost your muse and while we understand how difficult this must be for you, the Department has expectations to meet. We have been lenient with you, considering your…obvious talent. But enough is enough Miss Weathers. You can consider this your last chance.’
there is no elephantby
dear boy with dough-lined eyes,
i am sleeping on empty mattresses and waiting by the window. the ashtray is empty but the bathtub's still blue.
dear boy with frog-eared lungs,
today i cook pasta, spirals not wheels. the sauce is red instead of white. my left hand is empty. i call you and tell you these are things i'm willing to sacrifice.
dear boy with fire-glow lips,
there is moonshine in my veins. there is glycerin on my skin. even a devil's mile away we spark.
dear boy with caged-bull ribs,
there is no elephant in the room. there is a chest of drawers dated 1874. there is an empty nest. there are three blind mice. the zookeeper just left.
dear boy with mirror-grazed limbs,
yesterday i wrote you a letter, licked the envelope, dropped it in the mailbox. in three days your scar-ridden hands will slide along the edges and you'll pretend it's me. eyes closed.
a postscript :: magical museAmongst the sodden sheetsby
he leaves with her words
still moist on his fingertips.
False copies for the tongued
verses, signed by a poet,
post-scripted by a Thief.
Vacation Cecile strolled along the white sanded beaches of a forgotten island, frosted drink in hand, and wondered how an island could be forgotten if so many others knew where it was. All along the beach there were nicely dressed tourists, some with drink, others just holding hands, and still others wetting their feet in the surf. It was such a shame vacations couldn’t last forever.by
A handsome, well-tanned man picked his way along the beach toward Cecile. She smiled at him and they shook hands. “You look like you come here often,” she said.
“And you look like you never get out at all.” It would have been an insult but for the warm smile. It was infectious, because she found herself smiling as well. “So what are you escaping from?”
“Murder mystery,” she said with a shrug. “All these motives and opportunities have me overwhelmed
Elusive[door opens, hurried footsteps, door slams]by
Writer: [out of breath] Look, I don’t want to do this, but I’m going to have to start imposing curfews if you don’t start listening a bit more! I know you need your freedom, but can’t you be a little more considerate? I am responsible for everything you do, you know!
Muse: [stiffly] I’m sorry.
Writer: Are you?
Muse: …
Writer: No. I know that look. I’ve seen it too many times already.
Muse: But do you understand it? Can you comprehend me at all?
Writer: How can I? You don’t make sense! You’re so capricious – you taught me that word – and I can’t… I can’t even trust you.
Muse: …
Writer: Look, I’m not asking for much. Can’t you just… not hang out with her?
Muse: [muttered] What’s the matter, jealous?
Writer: What?!
Muse: I’m not sure I understood your request. What exactly is the issue at hand?
Writ
Muse Wanted‘Miss Weathers, you are being assigned a Muse by the department. Due to your rather…spotty record, we have decided this is a matter requiring some force. You and your muse; who is also under parole, must go through a three week trial period before acceptance or rejection is possible. ’by
Blaine frowned across at the uptight Unit assistant, the paper proclaiming her fate held loosely in her hand.
‘Three weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘No, no Miss Weathers we are not. It’s been three years now since you lost your muse and while we understand how difficult this must be for you, the Department has expectations to meet. We have been lenient with you, considering your…obvious talent. But enough is enough Miss Weathers. You can consider this your last chance.’
there is no elephantby
dear boy with dough-lined eyes,
i am sleeping on empty mattresses and waiting by the window. the ashtray is empty but the bathtub's still blue.
dear boy with frog-eared lungs,
today i cook pasta, spirals not wheels. the sauce is red instead of white. my left hand is empty. i call you and tell you these are things i'm willing to sacrifice.
dear boy with fire-glow lips,
there is moonshine in my veins. there is glycerin on my skin. even a devil's mile away we spark.
dear boy with caged-bull ribs,
there is no elephant in the room. there is a chest of drawers dated 1874. there is an empty nest. there are three blind mice. the zookeeper just left.
dear boy with mirror-grazed limbs,
yesterday i wrote you a letter, licked the envelope, dropped it in the mailbox. in three days your scar-ridden hands will slide along the edges and you'll pretend it's me. eyes closed.