Back to Issue 5

And Tonight We Look Tomorrow by Jessica Buettner

The time that used to be.   Harder in the time.   Getting out of what happens inside.   Unlock the doors.
Find out what happens.   A light glows through the doors.   Alight the feet fantastic.  
Isn't it the darkness?   Isn't it the smile?   Isn't it the chest?   Isn't it the moment?
To trip the life amazing.  
To fall into the day.   To fall into the life?   Is it as bad as those who think it so?   To find the life by accident?  
Time to sit with the instrumental and instrument the content.  
Skip through the room and out the door.   Old hips take a breath, take a need.   Give a hyperventilation for a phantasmagorical moment.  
And in a baby voice he calls out...to mop the floor.   Footprints erased in a spic and span scan of the everything.   He complains. Too much.   "What he says?" He's an asshole.   Red Eyes sits and moans with the love of she who needs to be hated.   And if she can't be hated, she chooses another object to hate her.   The orgasm of hatred.   The spasm of knives.
And in whose opinion is it that the abuse of the soul is an abuse of spirit.   When does it become the purview of others to be the ones to judge.   To pass a belief past the others.   Throw it past, up and over.   Beyond the ceiling.   The difference is clear as the gloss becomes transparent.  
Go be Red Hot.  
Do you even know where we are?   Just ask for the directions.   Just as for the focus.   Just as for the center.   Just find the connections the disassociate.    Find the tendencies and you find the center within the everything.  
In an attempt to be fascinating, one becomes paranoid.   An eye for privacy.