One-A-Day

could it be that then influenced the now and caused it to be could it be that my missteps only led me to you could it be that my penance is less painful than i let on could it be that water feeds the fire and flames burn the rain could it be that my opposition is a birthing ground could it be plans i thought i'd upset were asking for it all along could it be that my confusion is an impetus for action could it be that all these excuses are simply motivation driving me forward could it be that the taboo is merely something i cannot admit to needing could it be that all these rules are begging to be broken could it be that all this tangential motion is simple mathematics could it be that my simplistic queries are too difficult to solve could it be that i'm confused by the unknowable could it be that i'm sure of the uncertain could it be that i am who i am could it be that no one knows

i don't have the mettle to meddle in your affairs, much as i wish they were mine. and yet when i open my eyes i know meddling is the wrong strategy, given how little substance remains or ever was. heat only warms when i can see my breath and now it's summer in february and i have no need for your heat. and yet i still cling to your memory when i remember how cold i am inside.

how much of this bleb is self-erected and how much created elsewhere and thrown over me like a net, built around me like a wall as i shrivel and die inside? does the melodramatic swirl about me or do i brew it inside myself and refuse to admit the role i've played? life is good but i fear that sometimes i pretend otherwise to make it more interesting. who wants to live in a rut with tires squealing to escape when the wheel aches to turn about? surely the duck's wildly paddling feet serve a larger purpose. functionally, yes, the webs serve to keep him afloat but does not the mallard seek solace in chaos? or are just the hens drawn to insanity? imbalance mirrors the moon, my goddess.

your eyes delve into me like a shovel breaking ground. will the gardener educe fragrant flowers and juicy fruit? will you nibble my flesh as my scent washes over you? ...or will you leave me bruised and downtrodden? will thorny weeds penetrate the cloth of the planter's gloves? there's a fine line between hard-to-get and a pipe dream. which am i? ...which are you? will you reap my fertile fields ...or rape them? will my fields lie fallow and unused, as you refuse to cultivate my bounty. will you ignore my potential for growth and neglect me altogether? will you shower me with water or drown me in it? (sustenance quickly grows to substance abuse.) or will you salt the earth and leave me empty and worthless?

I. sometimes sin comes wrapped in plastic -- devil's food cake? under other circumstances, alluding to satan would provoke controversy but we just open our mouths and consume happily. though dieters might find the treat more a trick, providing a persistent flow of calories ticking up with the speed of a timebomb until -- strange reversal -- the number displayed exceeds a preset number that ms. craig established. what fun is watching weight when you can just watch and wait and smile as you dig your own grave? one bite equates to one small trowel of dirt on your coffin but we're all headed that way anyway so why not just enjoy the ride, however truncated. obesity turns life's roller coaster into the vortex or another ride at six flags that closes whenever it rains or whenever the wind breathes in a westerly direction or whenever i have been standing in line long enough that i start to plan my next destination which is probably the funnel cake stand beca...

i've buried you deep inside, a shiv sheathed in my heart. i slid into cardiac tissue sensing the danger of the blade but never the impossibility of pulling you loose. i thought i'd cauterized the wound with our heat. and its abrupt end. but the absence mislead me. it made my heart grow fonder of the blade threatening to separate atrium from ventricle. why do i cling to dreams that cannot be fulfilled? why can't i drop what cannot be and let self-destructive aspirations dry up like a raisin in the sun? i doom myself to live between contentment and sabotage, a silly game of subterfuge spent hiding behind blades of air, hills of wind on a plateau where all my acts are all too clear if i draw anyone's eye. i need to grab the hilt and pull you out. but i fear i'd just push you back in.

what to say when the words have no meaning what to do when it's all an act who to be when faces are smooth and eyes are blank and hearts are empty i have words devoid of meaning i have sounds which fall on deaf ears my tongue incapable of conveying meaning all that i have to express myself is an empty heart blank eyes and a smooth face

In her eyes, the inclement weather was particularly propitious . The dark clouds had scared away her impending knell . For today. The swirling masses were irascible , threatening to rain down lightning, should she leave the safety of her home. It regaled her to pick up the telephone and make that call. “I regret that we cannot meet tonight.” She attempted to keep from sounding mordant . “Do you really regret it, miss?” His acumen was exceeded only by his courtesy. “Matthew, of course I do. You know how I await our meetings agog .” She feigned ebbulience , shifting in the span of a breath to something quite the opposite. “Do you dare call my integrity into question? Does your captious mind attack my anguish like a bandog ?” He was quick to respond: “Oh, miss, I do pray I have not offended you. I bathe in virtu , and your beauty is the finest art ever created. It is the oasis in a desert of the most severe aestival heat, and I beg you to allow me a...