Revved and vague, ah: we insert a cartoon into the damp warehouse only to river an electrical current beyond taste: where bandages fly to kiss their wounds.
Balinese games across the land do lend a helping hand to ghosts who usher us through the news of fading occupants, young too soon.
While there was joy at the division, beyond the gates I saw a spine a'walking; 'twas ten stones larger than mine own, and in each skeleton hand: a rose roasting its own thorns on a miniature grill, smiling at its reflection as we sought its eyes for a gateway to Trust.
Hand-lettered cassette tapes contained mixes from my soul I made for you while there was something rotten and dead in my head and you blurred into a crowd at a local punk show, leaving me with my pile of cassette tapes and a storm only the screaming distorted guitars could ever assuage.
Ready to lose a privilege, I shine and turtle-wax the oak floors until possessions (cars, televisions, homes) become séances in sunny starlight: bullet moonlight: another layer of wax: a bone-marrow snake huffing to preserve our lives passing in blood clouds.
Wakin on a pretty dazed day, I blistered my fingers gripping psychedelic records the lizards told me could spray paint a record collection upon the sun to kill a thousand lemmings.
Tell me and show me if I ever open my eyes against this tiny finger pulling this little trigger because Porcelain slashed an ivory wrist, singing, "I don't wanna be in love with you."
