this is a picture postcard. greetings from wherever i am. 
ive been handled and perused by second hand men in hand 
me down shoes. you want me to sing you a song? what key 
do you want it in? ive got the perfect pitch. dress and 
doll me up and ill assume your role. dissect me. dont you 
disappoint me. you can lay me on your table and cut me up 
with your scalpel. ill slip on the concrete just to get 
it right. im your fool of all fools. trapped in 
grammatical errors, we're all prison pent. monsters make 
love in my closet with skeletons. the doors wide open. 
these words are recorded from black lungs. you cant hug a 
photograph or kiss a melody but you can still relive 
memories. im encased in tattered transparencies and worn 
out grooves smoothed out by use from a needle tracing 
impressions of direction. you can pick up my broken body, 
dust me off, remember that i tried, remember that we all 
tried. maybe this time the words will make sense. is it 
so hard to lose your thoughts like mine? it balms the 
mind with painless numbing novacaine neverminds. maybe 
this time the notes will fit in tune, i am the emulsion. 
dead letters still can speak. we are not unique but we 
still can pretend as long we stand on the shoulders of 
shadows of giants that were never there. you can cleanse 
me. your melodies and harmonies erase me.