DieMatrix

i. Would you listen even if I told you? A gasoline puddle reflects the sky in a kaleidoscope of swirl-smeared color, rainbow whorls distorting the image into an obscene depiction. And though I've heard claims about accuracy and intention, I've come to view these puddles as shallow representations. If I gave you a mirror could you gaze into it and look for more than just yourself? ii. Honestly, I tried. Yes, my words are polished, but when was the last time you cared? You're the one who taught me to paint primroses amid the Mojave. You seemed to prefer overbearing fragrances over my soil preaching statements of aridity and honesty. Then

"I don't plaster formaldehyde across my forehead for your benefit.  These chemicals are meant for preservation, not for your personal preferences." The statement curls ironic commas at corner of his mouth and an insolent tssking titters across his tongue.  "Oh Genevieve, you're always so testy; a kitten boasting of tiger's teeth.  I was merely offering a cordial compliment.  Surely two old companions can have an exchange of pleasantries without bringing up past grievances?" - Grapefruit juice and salted moon cycles.  The sleeplessness swoons betwixt an ever-growing caution and those caustic lips.  And I've heard it said that ignorance is blis