They keep tip-toeing in slow motion and even though it’s day there’s no sun only the moon and even though they move so quietly I can hear their feet crashing down like thunder. Red lips. Red gums. And how I’ve hushed those gums and how I’ve skirted the edge and peered at their naked bodies as they danced below. In a land of sand they take the blade and slice away like I smear paint upon the canvas and when I’m done and drinking tea with a smoke they raise the bodyless heads to their black-eyed gods and their bones grow until they grow no more. I’m not insane, I can assure you of that, and yet there has always been a thirst I can never seem to quench. It itches beneath my fingernails and at the back of my throat. It picks away at my guts never letting me escape the dirty tides that drag me out to sea whenever I seem to be doing so well. There was a time when to be regular was my only wish, but such fantasy is now beyond me. It’s all about capturing the grease of our existence and making sure it tickles others as much as it tickles myself. Have you ever seen them when they creep down the sidewalk with their tongues sticking out and their teeth all sharp and ready to sink in? Have you ever let one kiss you as you toss and turn during the middle of the night not knowing whether you’re dying or just stuck in anther red nightmare? And then you get those moments where you awake but things still feel so bad and you’re not sure just where you are anymore. I like those bits. They turn me on much like the touch of your hair or the words you place upon my pillow. Sometimes I talk to the trees. Sometimes I forget who I am, and in the cool breeze that carries your scent the flowers speak of your beauty and it seems such a wonderful thing. The life they speak of is limbo. It bores me to my cancerous bones, which is why I’m trying so hard to reach you.