The best writing in the world, period.  There is proof.
Jan. 5, 2003
volume i, issue viii
beats pulse the room
manic doom flashes the strobe
the globe shatters light in vertiginous circumference
cutting across her face with the shards

she is dusty
i brush her off and look at her
before i put her back under the bed
she said something about descartes
but i don't think she is

have you ever spoken in vowells when lips fail
and logic flails with rhythmic certainty?
bodies writhe in the multicolored dim
simmering with shudders
juddered to illusions
drowned with sound, full and manic
pulling the vulgar strings
gyrating a code
of sweaty infatuation

the cobbles of the square
slide with rain
splashes drain in a gurgle
toes wiggle in the wet
the bus is late
she hasn't set

cyrus n. ©2002
4 spinning wheels
cyrus n.