Equation

Two objects, nouns, coffee mugs, anything,
move in opposing direction. If the objects, whatever they
may be, travel in speeds with a relative difference of
two thirds in comparison, how long will it be before
they collide?

-or will they pass right on by..

Chapter Closing

This book is old and it's binding, unraveling. Its pages of dusty cliches cannot bear a resemblance to a hundred frames of film anymore. Keep rolling: this is picturesque and I've found that glimmer in their eyes. -It's fading, wait. Oh, I think we've lost it. Maybe the book will have that charm. Can someone else look for me? I've forgotten how to read.

Gumption

I saved my tickets like I saved my wine: the older they aged, the murkier the taste.
I'm twenty-three and that doesn't really count for anything except that I'm in my prime.
Tender slop of meat, drizzled with marinade, seasoned with spice, ready to heat.
At the rising tension, beginning to rise intensely, or drop mildly, or drop deadly.

O, burst of sultry in my body, won't you tighten the lid to the mayo jar in the fridge?
There was a sweep of frost that brushed against my socks and the second shelf's glow
has gotten ahold of me.

-christopher uller

Southern California Sucks

I'm not a fan of where I spent twenty-one years of my life. There's so much better world out there. Catch a wind-surf from immature adults spent upon the crests of golden waves. Drop a tank of gas grounding rubber off back tires. Swig bottom heavy bottles and smile with both eyes. Steal away concentration in exchange for leisure and laugh. Cough out those curdling lungs of smoking puff cigarettes. Lotion and salt. Car shows and War museums. Dancing lights and volatile drink. Blowjobs and greasy burgers, fries. The movies. The freeway to L.A.. From San Bernardino to Santa Monica. The angry and their guns. The idle and their dogs. The dying and their bills. The youth and their hollywood. The selfish and their fables. Here's to you, o, sweaty desert of sun. May your stilling chime never leave my soul without jarring sone.

Erasing an Echo's Echo

I've betrayed all things "me" and given too much acclaim to all things "u,"
like: umbrellas and ulcers, ultraviolet light and uncles, the umbra over Miami,
the uncanny way I look at myself in the mirror, an
uprising from hot sheets, and the useless usability of language.
Especially right now, when I've blacked-out that human duplicate
in my dusty mirror.
He's no traitor, he just smiles all-right.
I'd punch him in his glass mouth, no matter how dark I make him.
I am myself and no other.

I am myself and no other.

"When I say let's keep in touch, I hope you know
I mean I wish that you'd grow up."

-christopher