November 12th, 2002 - 1:16 a.m.

In jury over the guilty party of this massive injury. (But we now know who.)

In a walk to fend off a desire to hold a massacre of the internal organs, watery beetles with soft exoskeletons and dusty innards fall from omni clouds, and burrow their way into strands of hair, between the fibres of clothing.

In losing oneself amongst the waves of a salty inlet, the lights playing on the water, forming perfect hues. one wishes to see such beauty that it would annihilate all need.

In returning to the flat, the floor is populated by several dozen orange snakes. Who have entered uninvited, and left without as much as a bientot.

In realizing that the desire to injure is greater than the accusation, am left with the question once again: How dare you?

In a blink, nothing seems to exist.

In the tapping of the fingers, waiting for a gesture to permanently void all of the obsolete.

N.

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