Drowning Town

tornado

Her body, shapeless like a jewel. Suspended in space she shudders at the sight of all things unholy. Scratch your initials into the flesh of her thigh. Churchyards under starlight. A sequence of images regarding love and loss from autumn through till Spring. Place a wreath upon the lonely soil. Say some words to send her home. Clothes too small. Lover’s breaking apart never to return. Sit in a bar and watch with despair all those who pass you by. See them with transparent skin. Sniff their lethargy and become one with all the rain in the world. Let it pour and never let it stop. Dominance brings castration. It plants the seeds of damnation. The slither of snakes attached to watery hips. Click the trigger. Suckle the breast. A snap to the back of the head. An embrace to signify belief. Comfort comes in neon cities. Married mother of seven splintered straight down the middle. Frozen feelings thawed with uncovered photos. Wrap them around your knee. Embrace the passing of souls as they cling to those who made them feel real to begin with. Remains of union tossed aside like it was nothing. Gob on it like you never even cared. Human is useful. Nothing else comes close. Eight bodies in eight barrels. Curtains that billow like dreams in a dreary head. A stasis won’t last forever. All moments thaw eventually. Respectability is death. Being normal pointless. Why be stale when you can be anything in the universe? Breathe in the atoms that need breathing the most. Ten years. Three months. Unravelled.

Sacramento vampires. Sensitive to light. Underlying difficulties with ghosts. English purgatory. August 1977. Library visits on a Sunday. Long walks to here and there. Hours tick like nails in a coffin. Contempt for those who conform. Art studios that move in and out of existence. A red telephone booth that eats curious minds. All those roads. All those pages wrote then forgotten. Dreams of a life not yet understood despite the passing of years. White male in his twenties. Beard and cigarettes. Writes. Takes baths to return to the womb. Sits in silence awaiting an alignment of black stars. Watch films. Read books. Pornography against the masses. The drowned man. Love letters to the damned. There’s nothing bizarre about a man absorbed by his thoughts. There’s little cruel about those who are small. My history is meticulous. It rules with a golden fist. Drink beer while looking at gardens brimming with women. Watch the weather change but stay the same. Levels of memory. Things that happened. So sacred is the time we lose. Music takes us closer. Grow your hair and lock yourself away. Beware of false prophets. Damsels in distress just shadows of what they once were. Rivers of hips. Submerged feelings and boiled sex. Against the cold, we slept like angels in the snow. Places faded in the night. Tender so tender those flowers that wilt out of reach. We bow down to abuse and downward mentality. Beautiful theories and guilty facts. They say they know, but they never do. Baseless wonders. Miniature suns and crescent moons. Standing still as everything rotates back into place. Leaves of dust. Life and death entwined.

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