The Whole Megillah

I sink my teeth into the blue of your skull.
In the morning dawn will arrive to split us from the light.
An investigation of your body reveals that your library contains more tears than anything.
I felt like a bird whose flesh was made of mouths.
I propped a ladder up against your window, but when I climbed up to look in on you, your room had been replaced by 30% sand, 30% water, 30% pointless babble, 10% cotton.
I was informed by the powers that be that in actuality you do not exist.
We are not human beings.
All of the loud speakers have been replaced with yawns.
The yard is full of tourists.
The walls are full of insects.
There is a sign over your bed that is unintelligible.
The yard of your body is full of broken down cars.
The walls of your body are overcome with loss.
Are night sweats a sign of disease?
I will need a pony if we are going to go any further.
We have been discovered by the flash-bulbs of the dead.
Some part of me is disappointed that the execution was delayed.
We met in a hotel room, and you were gone before I could even open my mouth to ask you what it was that you kept in the basement.
Someone has left the backdoor unlocked.
For some reason I never come around any more.
I blame the French.
They were drawing a smile across your face with a knife.
The sun has been replaced by a series of yawns.
I am building a temple out of used ape parts.
Our conversation was terminated after someone unplugged the river.
The morning was full of birds.
Somehow the light here seems more authentic-- it is staving off the orthodontia of night.
All the laws were changed to include an inexhaustible supply of mayonnaise.
Already we are exhausted.
The pen, lifted from the page, fills the room with moths.
All our ideas are composed of dark matter.
The meaning too often relies on the context.
I cannot justify any of my returns.
Flip a switch.
You are thirsty.
We need bigger bombs (boobs?)
Communication relies on an understanding of the method.
Your body is like a Russian novel (one of the good ones).
You are Russia returning from sleep.
I exaggerate.
Everyday I get smaller.
We couldn't find a parking space, so we kept on driving. Eventually we will run out of earth.
You are a forced march though Poland.
It is already Tuesday.