hello?

Is anyone still contributing to this?

I blame....

Finals week, termites, whiskey, and you.

Surfactant

I do not walk by Marla while she does the dishes. I will get distracted by the gleam of her suds and instead of getting a soda, become enthralled by a solitary soap bubble with all of its nearly imperceptible rainbow in its halo.The shifting shapes and vortices cross its diaphanous membrane in a splayed array. It traps me with my own mortality. We have such a fleeting time to spend evolving or carrying a rainbow that we can only hope to be one thing: a damned soap bubble. All we can hope for is that someone else walks by the sink and gets trapped in our convolution of tiny vibrancy and the waver of thin cartography.

The Crime Scene

(All right, I'll try to stay away from the emotionally charged poems. Had to try it. So here is another one I've written recently. Just give it to me straight. I hope this one is better, if not more entertaining. I broke this into seperate paragraphs to make it easier to read because it's a bit lengthy.)


Generic smell of must lingered in the room; adding a touch of vanilla. Cold linen heated; the twisted remains askew on the pillow top. Fluff flattened and broken. Multi colored bottles lay abandoned, toppled, their insides flowing into the cheap carpet; busted and broken. The walls bled purple, melting into an apple green. A naked lamp stood alone in the corner, shivering after its ordeal; too traumatized to speak to the police and was taken to the asylum.
Fleshly colored dolls lay motionless on the busted bed frame. Eyes closed, mouths closed, the secrets they held no one could access. Their computer chips shut down. Arms wrapped around the other; the criminals left a message. Sadistic and sick the dolls were forced to watch. Screams woke the residents. Blue and red lights swirled the room. The dolls were never more thankful. But the criminals got away. All traces of human removed from the room. Not even the dresser could tell them anything useful.
After hours of interrogation the police had to let the toilet go. She was clean. The sink and mirror had waited for her in the lobby. Dingy fluorescent lights bathed them in a sickly green. She cried. The police were clueless. The crime scene remained taped and tethered for the next week, before being released. It was thankful to get back to work.

Love You To Pieces by David Barkhimer

"I love you to pieces, I love you to death".


Those are the words that have turned my life into a roller-coaster of regret. Regret for those that i love, those that i loved, those that i care about, for myself, but mostly for her.

"I love you to pieces, I love you to death".

I met her within the first week she started at Kroger. It was another blistering hot day in the middle of spring when i walked outside to introduce myself to yet another new Deli Clerk. Fresh meat for the rampaging sharks that infest the work place. If only i knew then what i know now, i could have warned her, i could have prevented the whole ugly scene replaying like unwanted reruns in my head. She had a charm about her that drew people to her like metal to magnets, and i was one of those people. We were quickly engrossed in conversation amidst that sweltering heat, smoke rings from our cigarettes drifting to stain a white ceiling yellow, stuck outside for a dreaded fifteen minuet break clothed in what seemed like the worst possible combination for a uniform. The thick red fabric did nothing to deflect the suns rays for what seemed like an eternity. The giggling and the laughing only carried on as the days turned our semi-acquaintance into a budding friendship fueled by insecure curiosity and the pleasures of anthers flesh. That was our first night together outside of Kroger, sitting in a limo ten O'clock on a dark night, the starry ceiling lights resembling a precise universe above the crystal decanters of liquor and shot nerves. Between the two of us sat her friend, a hot mess of hunk that had me sweating in an 70 degree atmosphere. She liked to watch two guys go at it, indulging on her voyeuristic tendencies. she sat there on the furthest seat, eyes intently watching as she whispered things she wanted to see, and we indulged her wildest fantasy's. The meshing of two bodies hot with the coursing flow of hormones and blood through their veins drove her to an ecstasy unseen in my life. Then the phone rang, ruining the mood for both of us and her. We laughed, myself still caught up in the moment, in a state of shock at what i had done for someone still near enough a stranger and with a complete stranger. That was not like me.

"I love you to pieces, I love you to Death".