AdvocatusD

Send me away in the simplest craft Stick me inside of a plain wooden box. Bury me deep in the worm-ridden dirt, and leave me to lie until earth turns to ash. Send me away wearing nothing at all; simple and bare without clothing or care. Keep my possessions. I've no use for cash– Charon may charge, but he can't send me back. Send me away without chemical veins.    Don't embalm or preserve–    Let me pay back the worms. Send me away with untampered remains.    Don't emblaze or destroy–    I borrowed this flesh from the dust of the earth. Send me away when you can't hold me back. Spare me from bedsores and burde

I recall the night we walked, past trees warming their hands around lamp-post firelight to the God Tree stretched out in seven poses calling us to climb, enjoy his company and become branches we pressed our flesh to the bark until each became the other and both became ours

Perfect Man hatched from a purple egg. He sniffed the air then gingerly scratched his genitals. "Behold!" cried the Scientist. "The Perfect Man, perfect in every way!" "Will it do the dishes?" asked the Scientist's Wife. "Perfect by nature, my dear! He needs perfect education, perfect upbringing and socialization!" Perfect Man began to suck on his big toe. "Don't mind that. Just one of the quirks of creating Perfect Man instead of Perfect Baby." "You needn't have been so hasty," said the Scientist's Wife. "Why doesn't he look more like Robert Redford in his prime?" The Scientist scowled. "I thought he would look more like me." Perfect

There are 261 beautiful people in the world. I am not one of them. My eyes are not the right blue-green hue. My features are not comparable to fruits. I would kill to be 262, but this subcutaneous fat makes me too curvaceous. So I'll get a faucet installed. Then I could lose the pounds as I please, drain them right into the sink! Nothing gaudy-just a chrome faucet for a bellybutton. All my friends will see how much better I look. Until they notice my complexion. No beautiful girl has pores like these. After my scalp transplant, I'll get my face laminated. Smooth, glossy smile, highlights on my cheeks, youthful sheen. Then I could be a beau

There's a spider web between us. Do the threads tickle your skin? Dainty work I doubt you've noticed. We're sewn together. We're stretched apart. We're tied like hostages, like hairs in a Band-Aid. I'm not convinced we're safe; either we're shoes set to trip or hands holding a cat's cradle. We can't be both. I can't tolerate the distance, but I can't pull away. I'm drawn behind you like a carriage. Trapped between us are things we missed, the glances and nods, words spoken under our breath. I'm watching their blood drain away. When you read this, they'll be husks. Reach your arm toward me before it's too late. Coil the web around us. Pull

Orange There are two ways to imagine a world in which only orange exists. The first is to imagine the world painted over. The second is to imagine the world stripped of every item of another color. This second way I prefer, though few fruits would exist, only half of my sister's tabby would remain, and every writing instrument would be a colored pencil. Blue sky would yield to orange sun, and I would bask in the brilliant glow, if only I were orange. White If you try to imagine nothing, you'll imagine either pure black or pure white. I imagine the difference between nihilism and monism in no less certain terms. If you imagine grey, you're

Four You watch the dead TV set to a faint buzzing from above. The TV is yours, the couch is yours, closet, blankets, specters, cabinet-yours. Books that fill the shelves that fill the walls around the room, your spectators arranged in a coliseum. Your air, I couldn't breathe-couldn't hold mine. Three My mouth opens and your words drift out. I prepared them on your time. The words shock your air-it parts then collapses into itself. The smell of cigarette smoke, salt, and dust from removal, lingering premonitions like absence itself, like disappearance from yours. Two The paint looks paler, as if the walls could remember four minutes befor

Phantoms A headless mannequin chases our car. My mom, bloodlessly bitten in half, drives me to the doctor. I tell my mom I don't want to go see the doctor, but she isn't in the car anymore. Disembodied hands turn the wheel. The mannequin closes in, I close my eyes. Try to will it away, but it's closer every peek. God save me-there is a mannequin chasing me, I'm stuck in this car, and we're pulling into the doctor's office. Hamster Cage The broken glass wasn't the problem-the teeth were. Thousands and thousands, two by two by the trillions. They need to chew to keep them trim. I am not intended as a tooth-trimmer. They say you don't feel

COMM. cries for attention, this chattering, electric clam. Buzzing, beeping, interrupting. Carry in pocket, attach directly to ear, or scoop out brains and place inside. To go without is grisly social suicide. AUDIO cords stuck straight into my ears. Send vibrations through my skull from a tiny black box. Self-induced schizophrenia-my own invisible orchestra in my head. I can make AUDIO sing whatever I want. She knows all my favorite songs. I can make AUDIO scream as loud as I want. She'll never grow hoarse. And, at most, all you'll hear are whispers; she's mine alone. ENCRYPTION chain clipped to my left hip. Metal passwords for access t

On May 2nd the so-called doomsday meteor decelerated and entered a leisurely orbit around Earth, third planet of the Sol system. This was at first surprising to Earth's residents because they thought it impossible, but few were truly disappointed. The scientific community did a double-take. The experts were now more baffled than when the inexplicably fast celestial bullet was first discovered shooting across outer space, then officially denied, then double-checked, then neither confirmed nor denied, then triple-checked, then cursed, and finally confirmed with an unfortunate press conference. But the new consensus among the experts was that, u