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.