fence was six
realigning myself
by the time we rotated
fence was six
cutting a tarmac arm
the wind filled my head
glasses gleaming the reflection
saw straight through me
the flapping gets faster
meteor into the gutter
hover in the hardness
back to the moon
in a nervous line
a jagged phone ringing
saw me near the border
deep but hollow
uncovering an ancient
me on the floor
reptile eyes was looking
glinted off the steel of the window
the next day we walked into town
further up the road
swimsuits on the silver
filled my lungs and went limp
in a bright blue glass rose
eyes red rimmed
I could taste ozone
the sky a perfect road like quicksilver
the lights are off
I lie listening
the sound of wet meat born under a bad sign
escaping to the linen room
and the crypt beneath
drunk on the pure richness of this false paradise
in the library at night
in a hot wet hand
…whatever god you choose…
I will not be broken
April 9th, 2008 at 9:56 am
“the sound of wet meat born under a bad sign”
brilliant, nik.