a wicked thing this

there, a last resort

an exchange of glares, held poorly

hand over the other, mismatch

in tone, shape, colour

as sweat invades the soleem dryness

of skin and awkwardness second to that one

within

ribbons and empty nests

the mating call has seized the essence

of being out of time.

 

I recall being made by fever, a glaring siren

and being full of shit.

needle in the bum, kicked a nurse in the chin and swore to do it again

my childhood is full of spurts of blurs and sirens

a dragged fairytale gone astray, cigarette and whole before anyone relevant took notice

from the sea of stars we step atop the cars the future heads at speed

no stops, no trades, no firsts only last calls and bottoms up your turn.

 

you know you are boring when every song tastes like the last

because they are the only and same

constant nagging voice in the mirror

only you have no mirror the room is dark and you jumped off the window

an encased, lodged really, glass atop the nose caters to the window like a pendulum

blood drifts, filling the space

if I am born but am not told where to go

where should I dive towards in this imperfection ocean of souls. 

the duality of knowing how unwell ecstasy may crumble

remnants of perception interjected inference that the Moon lays not still

but distance irregardless of the evil eye cast away without need for a sacrifice

may the virgins live another day.