stumbled in a sugar blanched sky rising
dizzy and hectik
gasping hard whispers made of ache
creaking in the shadows of nothing but the could of beens.
As experienced from a distance.
Falling in a straight line
from the outside.
It gets so bad that the echoes feel more like real life
subjugated to a time and space once reserved for the satire of dante.
Hands thrust deep in the earth of the rotten field – tastes funny but you get used ot it. They all look alike. Easy to get confused.
Can’t hear each other over the silence taking hold, leaves you hanging by fingernails snapping one by one in the ragged sunlight. Feels like a re-run caught in the wee hours.
Been watching the jerky movements of the halfbreeds out the hotel window whilst the river runs backwards in an effort to undo itself. Has to be better than being, brought and sold on credit by the great pretenders whilst they act like they know how to be something other than the afterbirth of the once imagined.
Chock full of real bits
of shit – this bud’s for you, buddy.
Fresh air smells like cancer
something to remember whilst your waiting in line for fold after fold of bullshit
that melts in your mouth,
not in your hand.