The Wax Conspiracy

Aperçus of The Human Stain

Abandoned doona out the back window

Futures keep happening within the grand scream of things. A scram to stream the never-ending steam of boiled cabbage left to fester. There on the table top. There and off the edge it drops.

Drive-Thru spells out the shortened expectancy

Idle a few seconds at the first window, staring into the stock boxes and someone’s elbow, before rolling to the next window because some fast food joints don’t use all their windows. Pay, grab the food, drive off. Another lunch served. Another plastic straw you never asked for.

Waiting room magazines steal you from paper shorts

Sunset ushers a golden glow where the day is about to end and the night, the oncoming evening, is ready to be done with as you please. All the worlds in a sense of open opportunities before bed and the snooze strikes at 21:00 local time.

roadside picnic

Ducked it for too long, but got caught with that right-eye glaze – that deckled edge on the lens awards cataract wisdom... & not much else. Call it, -tribution: ripped of a prefix and left for dead.

the eyes of god can’t get any bigger

[-W +H]as poetry ever been commissioned to absorb damage adsorbed in the municipal briar patch?

pull the trigger

Countrysat, hereness declared. Rows of houses sat on rotted ground. Transpose that sumna -> dodgy foundations for periodontal disease. What pass them slicks lodge in the duodenum to be iron-leached and kerosene swabbed.

we'll all go together when we go

Pooled into insignificance, radiant, incandescent, umbra-proof – white wine, half-pills and chemical peels make for healed heads and delayed obituaries.

Toe knuckles are not best trimmed with incisors

Cripped and stripped, bare down to the toe knuckles. There, by the sea, across the wharf, we sit. We sip. We spit. Yesterday takes enough of its time getting through, and we're barely on the other side. A smoky haze we've never better seen.

Crawlspace cabbage is only good enough for potluck dishes

Ratlings, you'll find, are faecal deposits that line your walls and crawlspace. They're so-called because the size is like a small rat, bigger than a mouse, and often come with a tail-like drag. By the time you've found one the waiting period to exit the contract has lapsed.

Themed gifts and presents are meant to break you

More shells turn up under the scissored ribbon. More and more everyday. They don't stop coming. They'll never stop coming. You make one joke about Demolition Man your go-to and then like that, everyone thinks you've got a turtle or snow globe type of fetish that needs to be sated.

"both tried to behave as if nothing untoward had happened"

Industry (Preston School of), locus of such dissatisfaction. Something to be approached gingerly, like an obsessive-compulsive might a rococo tureen.


Sweep the leg is the new embolic paradigm. Each of they own stick to they own, and always always render unto Ghidorah. To talk the opposite of toxic is to talk Quixotic.

Sweating through Voynich

Pristine pages fall out and we're looking for the staples, finding only stitches. Saddles with no horses, backs broken all the same. The song turns, the sun dips across, and shadows cover up the kitchenette table. We've found crazy in a moteless place.
The Wax Conspiracy

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