When I woke up, there were tears streaming down my cheeks.

Janine’s ring finger ran over the ‘y’ of Our Happy Family, written in silver on the front of the photo album. She paused and stared at the white mark where her wedding ring had been, sniggering in such a way that cynicism gave life to the holes of the mesh fire screen over which the flame shadows danced.

I saw you today -
everyday woman with shopping bag -
craning your neck to see
what the excitement was about.

A whispered word,
drifting on the breeze.
A forgotten scent,
yesterday's melody -
all triggers to cause
the image of now to freeze,
then blink for a second
before fleeing
(flickety, flickety, flickety)
backwards to a monochrome
past point of resonance.

Come, let us pretend, you and I,
that both of us have hearts,
And let this sweet fiction know
that both those hearts can break.

And now, let us play, both you and I,
that words are sure-aimed darts
whose poison, as it slow and deadly blows,
shatters hearts like the sharpests of stakes.

And so, we sit face to face, you and I,
as we wait for the pain to start,

The important-looking official and I round a corner in the city at the same time – I step carefully around the pigeons on the sidewalk, but she sends them clattering into the air with the sharp clip of her official heels.

She smiles to herself
because the pigeons are not afraid of me,
but they are obviously afraid of her.

I shake my head to myself

There was definitely a knock on the door. Frank had seen the framed motivational poster, a beautiful photograph of an erupting volcano (with words to ruin it), rattle. Like rabid squirrels his eyes darted between the door and the drinks cabinet.

he pleaded...he begged for me to take him back. Give us one last chance. He said that he didn't want to die but if I didn't marry him and commit immediately, he would. I said I couldn't think about a relationship with him or anyone right now....but that I would always love him. When I said goodnight., he said goodbye.....

I should have known better.

Frank looked up when he thought he’d heard a knock at the door; Marcia usually brought his lunch at one O’clock sharp. Well, she used before he decided to break things off; before Emma had caught them in a peculiar position with the tent flap open on a breezy October afternoon not more than ten minutes’ drive from the family cabin where they were supposed to celebrate Zelda’s birthday.

The first thing that strikes me is... 'create content'. i ask myself why. Aghimm! (Hippo clears throat) And the reason *sniff*, the reason... wait for it... wait for it... the REASON, is because there's no one else in the room.
Which room?
Who said that?
What were you talking about?
MYSELF. I was saying that I was talking to myself because there was no one else in the room... you follow?

The can of Zippo fluid was half-full, or half-empty, as Frank was beginning to sum up the situation. He reached for the letter opener and fingered the engraving on the blade. The words made him cringe: Emma and Frank forever, written in an elaborate and illegible font.

Frank leaned forward and picked up the folder his lawyer, a sleazy man in a sleazy (brown) suit, had dropped on his desk five minutes before lunch. The wheels on Frank’s office chair squeaked as he sat back, the soft leather backrest letting out a sigh. Frank didn’t feel hungry anymore.

It’s a strange feeling when my body rebels and goes off on its own goddam walkabout leaving me behind.

Vendors’ voices faded with the sights and smells of Platform nine;
skewered meat turned blood red,
and sucked the smoke back into the charcoal fires,
which hissed themselves to death
in the comfort of homemade oil drum barbeque coffins.

The skyline sprinted over corrugated iron covering;
a healthy orange afternoon glow
slurped up dusk’s scars and violent violet bruises.

A secret compartment on the inside of his inside lab coat pocket
screamed Velcro!, and swallowed all evidence;
he relaxed a little, and, drooling on his sleeve,
ripped open the third Ziploc.

Ooh! I like it a lot!

A pungent smell of familiarity filled his nostrils and made his eyes water;
two cotton balls floated out of the bag,
for the flash-o’-high numbed his finger tips,

Standing by the window, Polaroid in hand,
he stared out at the hubcap rolling in the sand;
now the screen door, she was whistelin’ a sad and lonely tune,
and the bastard dogs, they were barkin’ at the moon.

Midnight roared and the sky came apart at the seams.
He looked up and saw where Jesus hides his dreams;
they were glitterin' gold, and blinkin' purple-pink—

So apparently things are going to change around here on 21 December 2012. I know! I must be the last one to find out about this stuff. Again.

The bottle of scotch looked tiny on the coffee table;
he squinted, closed his right eye,
and ‘moved’ it into the O of the SONY flat screen.

Perfect.

A frown formed between his eyes like a battle scar;
he couldn’t stand the sound of his wellies
making that … irritating noise over the marble floors.

I don’t like it one bit.

The smell of blood floated into the sky as the burning flames of apocalypse approached he grinned throwing flaming blasts the size of small continents in the ether This is the end time it has to be right this is why I have awoken To destroy all of creation .

I'm squinting at an Excel spreadsheet right now, deciding how to work a massage into my life. It's a lot of fun. See, first I say, "Which do I want more? A massage or..." and then I fill in the blank with the list of alternative items I have come up with: