the cobblestone streets have been washed of the buckets of stale urine dumped on them. you can still see the blood spattered from the chokes of passersby infected with tuberculosis.

the oil streetlamps still reek of singed hairs. the shapes of children remain burned onto the concrete, like a silhouette sketch stained into pearl. only more dingy and depressing, like the rest of the nineteenth century. or anytime, really.

like now. the stink of sweat saturated in body hair, stinking from being sauteed in the same sweat re-perspirated and more concentrated. you begin to sell the stale urine that was washed off the streets.

life, in short, is redundant. there are only new dilemmas to our unceasing solutions. and it seems that this pattern outdoes itself, in a manner of speaking.

when resources are spread thin, we will still not yet have seen how selfish we are. there will only be more solutions until the light of life dies for the very last time.

it has in me. i can’t take it anymore. there is no stench more repugnant than unfaltering pride.

yes, you can smell pride. it’s there, in the pheromones. it’s calvin klein mixed with body odor soaking through a polyblend suit. it’s piss and blood staining a camouflage uniform. it’s the aroma of gunpowder and coffee on new year’s day.

a nest is dug in the sand, a sweeping motion dusts the tops; a slight of compassion by a fingerless hand. and we are born. serving our life sentence, whatever that is.

some are fortunate enough to experience a quick death, but most are gripped in the snare of a seagull’s jaw. the rest of them take advantage of this, those opportunists grazing on the very spoils of which they ridicule us. a flock of seagulls, canadian seagulls, ripping at newborn flesh as if killing for progress.

one holds the shell, and the others are satisfied.

we cross the sands peacefully; making our way to the tidal pool, and they ambush from their northern borders. these skies, the north, it’s all the same as them. eh? is their call, as the murderous flocks converge overcasting our territory with gibberish and maple syrup.

sending some of us back to the wishing wells that once used to provide money for candy. but they’re still throwing their coins in, and their two cents are ruining everything.

restructured briefly by a makeshift spine. the load has surpassed maximum weight limit. think of a wheel barrow stuffed with too much rock and coal. debris is sifting off the top, carried by the wind into your eyes and lungs. who needs a pack of cigarettes?

you haven’t been caved in yet, but parts of you have. without oxygen and light, there is no photosynthesis.

drawing short breaths, and you fall like a heap of wet towels to the ground.

lamb and lion lay together like driftwood on the fringe of rapids. the lamb was always told that curiosity killed the cat, and was left feeling misinformed

as the mane concealed his face, the fluffy lining being ripped out. like clouds stained pink by a setting sun and the early beams of a harvest moon, it reflects the deed.

innocence is a dying breed.

the virgins are deflowered like eggs plucked from a bird’s nest, and their dignity is never returned. i’m told of the damage inflicted. how first love had burned for them.

the inner lining seeps out and stains the cotton. this is the lion’s share. some of them only feel better knowing they broke the hymen first.

have you ever seen how they almost smile as they lick the flesh from between their paws?

shades of rose dye the draperies, the speaker hangs his head like a limp marionette. the hands of the clock stand like a flower wilted by frost. this is my favorite audience.

gaping mouths are the best results. it’s hard to clear that image from my mind. or the pungent aroma of cotton twill pants soiled with urine.

how astute is your sense of revolution? can you smell the pyres of democracy burning flesh and oil, dusting the catacombs with the rubble of ancient forts and watchtowers?

history is smeared with history, and rats are my favorite vector. the end has come,

they have invaded to liberate you all of this mortal prison.