1

bloody mary and burger and pen

careless on a friday afternoon

candle, menu, page and ink

out the window and lifeless in dust

rot the hours and uniform, the burning

of waste and heart and index.

the hot shame and flames and fire

burning and

twisting

and

screaming

I raise the drink to my stupid mouth

while across the ocean

a lion mounts his female.

2

my dog sunbathes in the

tall grass of my backyard

he has one blue eye, which is electric

and see through, and he has a partial

blue eye, so I called him Chico.

Not very writerly of me. I guess I

could have called him Capote,

or Mailer, come to think

of it. He's a macho one, but also feminine

on a few levels. I think if Mailer and Capote

fucked, though, Mailer

would have been on bottom.

Not for loss of control,

but for total control.

3

I don't know you anymore,

but I will call you Alexandra

I will hold your body without

weight or breath or bother when

the branches break in the northern wind,

while death dangles ugly

while the warfare harvests its dead, its

brown leaves

while the sorrow usurps loneliness

I will call you Alexandra

for no other reason than you are nameless

and I am alone and destroyed

but maybe

I will call you Alexandria because

in a novel you were sweat upon

and shot upon in the back of an

old green van

I would call you Bronte or Joyce,

but you are far too beautiful

for them.

I will call you mine, here, for no

other reason than you can't exist.

4

sunday 5:45 p.m.

burning, dragging, a break in the blinds

shows the breath of Gauguin

with the metal grip of

Geiger, but not the taste

of ash or fire.

liquid screams pour

onward

leaking and

burning

and

dragging poor Gauguin

away from Tahiti

and through

the ages.

her ebony tendrils glowed scarlet

under the sun,

each curl clasping onto her cheeks.

deep brown eyes were

the centerpiece of the canvas,

endless pools of cocoa that

glistened gold whenever she laughed.

a kiss from a

serpent sealed her fate;

Hades saw Eurydice and

plucked her like a flower.

"she gulped the air with a satisfied yawn"

exhaustion rarely came this easily

she clung to the feeling of limp eyelids

struggling to maintain the consciousness of in between

this drifting

was as close to bliss as she'd get

late nights were her specialty

stumbling sleepless into the dawn

every chance of satisfaction

lost

she never woke up rested

and honestly detested

the taste of dreams

'When I first moved here, before I knew your true personality' i thought this was my greatest decision. I hadn't known you for long. We had met on a dating website about a year and a half before moving. Every night we would talk and each word pulled me deeper. I fell in love with you and one day you brought up the idea of moving to Michigan, where you lived. I was unsure at first but it was for you. So I moved. Everything was good when I first moved in with you. Until your true colors began to show. You became very controlling and verbally abusive. I ignored them though that was my mistake. You got worse, you began to hit me. I didn't go to work for a week at one point because you thought I was with someone else and you gave me so many bruises I could barely move. I didn't know what to do. I was in love but I hated the abuse. If I called the police you'd stop loving me. I tried my best not to get you mad and avoid getting hit. But after today I was done. You got drunk, began accusing me of things I "had done". You hit me repeatedly saying everything was my fault. I tried stopping you but you continued. I was broken and I was done with all this abuse. Once you were done hitting me I was covered in blood feeling as if someone had a knife in every inch of my body twisting it as I moved. I cleaned up and went to bed. The next morning you were gone so I went to the police station. I reported you. They arrested you once I got home and you tried to say I was lying. I moved back to Oregon where I met someone who not one finger he put on me. It took me 3 years to get over this trauma. But it's finally gone. Never again will I allow someone abuse me like you did.

The air hung heavy as we sat inches apart wondering what would be coming next. Neither of us were confident enough to look in the others direction. Instead I watched the fidgeting of my hands as we waited for the door to open. Inhaling deeply as I heard our parents steps inching closer. Straining to hear the muffled voices but only catching the angry tone. The door knob begins to turn we both shoot glances at each other. And in that instant we knew we were both grounded for the rest of our lives.

"Do we know the woman's name yet?"

She shook her head, eyes roaming the crime scene. This murder wasn't like the others. She was stark naked; posed and made up. She almost looked as though she were asleep.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her.

"I'm thinking that we either have two unsubs, or that this is a completely different case. Nothing here is the same."

He nodded in agreement and stood to his full height, his knees cracking the the tell of old age. "I'll get Officer Tristen to case the area, see if we have any witnesses, cameras," he looked down to the lifeless body once more. "Anything that can tell us where this poor girl is from or even where she's been."

Detective Cameron nodded and slipped on a pair of gloves. She was supposed to be leaving for her anniversary tonight, but it looked as though the city of Salem had other plans for her. She's hoped her partner would understand.

What combination of transformations could he use to transform (angle) CAE to the image on the coordinate plane?

Is it really important to humanity?

The human mind is amazing, how one could calculate such complex problems to find the simplest of answers.

Simple answers, simplicity.

Greg wants to rearrange the triangular pattern of colored stones on his patio.

Do you think mathmagicians calculate the size of the patio?

Simple numbers. 0100100011 is it that way?

Mathmagicians, hehe.

Seeing is believing, but there's a major error in that. Your eyes are trained to make up things that you think are supposed to be there. The shading caused by the sun rays wrapping around an old tree. The leaves all moving in unison as the limbs sway in the brisk afternoon breeze. What you don't know, and the scariest part of it, is that your brain generalizes most situations and keeps a photo of how everything was every time before that you saw it. There's thousands of subtle differences that we will never perceive, and for that I must say, it's necessary that I believe it.

("Don't worry -you don't know me," I quickly say.)

You don't know me

and that's fine,

but I feel the pull

of our former life.

Don't worry I say

because I understand

I'm not that memorable

to any man.