Hans und Greeting II
http://onemarketmedia.com/?p=buy-cheap-generic-viagra in the static the trees stand a greenblack gloaming; pierced and sown shut with failing rays; the sawdust dances there, the snowfall of her hair, or curls of deadflesh dandruff. the distance grumbles, some vast ferrous machine idly growling its satiation.
click here her father is a knocking, a bark-stripped limb knocking hollow and rotten against a fallen truck. inside the lightless termites teem, their sensitive mouthparts clacking, weaving sacs of spittle and sawdust. inside she sees a writhing, staccato peristalsis of chitin coalescing over pale, hungry organ meat. their little blind eyes, the pearls of semen.
http://cuatower.com/?p=buy-cheap-generic-sildenafil-citrate time lapsed, the termites teem into long, pale scars, the peristalsis quickens. menisci shudder and burst as one last windseethe ruptures the knocking and she knows they are coming for her, for the sawdust and spittle sacs of the little wooden girl.
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Hans sees the little pale seeds, smooth as spittle-drops, slip slick from the pigeon’s downy slit, parted by his trembling little hand, in her marbled wings morning sun blares sickly. in his mother’s mind, he knows it. little eggs of broken time silently gestating dawn. the hands of water soothe them, the wind rocks them to sleep. they want to say good-bye.
the little white cat, so sinuous, twines between the fence slats, vomiting bread rinds gone lunar blue in the night. her whalebone torso, pigeon-fragile in his palm, flutters, heaves, eructs. mewling her goodbyes.
Hans and Greta now greet the five o’clock new. At center screen, a man-shape blooms, in the background a slow grey conflagration, what they know without being told was once man-shape too.
the man-shape unfurls black shapeless psuedopods, petals of horn tip each sensitive eruption, fluttering loose in the grey coruscation. the limbs stretch and stretch and reach out across the miles, reaching through taut invisible wires a glassy black eye impassively catches. they too are caught up, uplifted by the unseen wires and they dance a still jig upon their stained couch, watched. glossy, impassive eye.
Up there a mechanized insect hangs heavy, impossible in the swept blue marble. It spins out its spindle claws, clambering for purchase in the slick. We look out from the in, enraptured in the smallness of our alterity. So what if we were unified but anxious. So what if we were whet with the stone. So what if you flensed us.
Up above we know we are watched.
That the glass quickens with our images, our bodies’ cathedrals, integuments. We swelled with that instance, instantiated. Our tongues’ meat went blue with silence. We gulped void till the void came inside us. We were caged meat with the bars inside, each resounding a blue music. Men in suits danced the Charleston, perfectly synchronized. We’re living on 4/4 time, this meat and the ghosts it dopplers, borrowed.
Hans he gonna bring out the big guns; he gonna don his steel jacket; reverse alchemize his pointer to lead. Gonna crumple up to make his point till he dead, like you dead, daddy-O, gaping and empty and
O, that colorless no, blooming bloodfire in the cold of his eyes
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