Does eternity sting? Will a memory last a lifetime? My hands tremble in every truck bed. Orbit Indigo planets, crash the meteor of mind scape, imploding Martian wishing every star will lead North.
Panic on the mattress. A pool, a moonbeam halo. Torn tongues, tears. Tangle fates strings - a theory - the moment sinks & swirls, down the drainpipe, and every crossing road will lead to the same cliff’s edge.
Mirrors haunting. Cemetery songbird. From moonlit to meandering dawn. Mist apparition, touch air, forever lost in nowhere.
Father’s talk about carrying a perpetual cross. The neon screen bleeds static. A numbed stare, what once gazed and sought. Fight the bitten urge, to grow wings, to fly from dead dust roads, a curb stomped dream tastes cruel, tastes moth dry, cough ecstasy, swallow the sea - lonely.
Splinters of self affliction. Pierce the veil between heaven and hell. A warning ringing like a rail line. Still I board the train, knowing it ends in cosmic collapse, knowing I’ll shake when thunder presses the desert, pressure in the ribcage, I’ve broken the growth plate.
Abandoned prayer. Self, suffocated, snuffed out by longing. When the lightning spreads a glow across midnight, I see clarity behind the smoke show. Every firework, a bullet hole, and I began to speak slowly, shadow taunting, it follows.
Keep distant in the vermillion silence. My amber, my crimson. Cicada shells line the doorway, never quite closing fully. An appetite unsatiated.
Weakened resolve. Nightmare vomit. That was my part of the deal… Soft & gooey & vaporized by fear.
I’ve watched twenty armeggedeons. They bury aches, sell poisons & salves. Still, sherbet skies unfurl after every fog. So too, the prophets lie, the crematorium women & concrete men wander from their private crucifixions to dip calloused fingertips into the tender canyon - the baptismal creek bed - everyone becomes holy if the soul is willing.
Still the forms fade. And the fragile walk thin lines. Fantasies ebb. Oblivion compass, leading to a finale of rot, forgotten.
Stories of lambs, double ended daggers, sacrificial. Catholic guilt. In the heat it melts, and life persists, a miracle to endure an ache, a bliss to have known the pain of this. Young & close & full of hope.
Infinite. The cars roll by and I know no one in them. Streets that held trap houses, attics I overdosed in, now just vacant lots, burnt holes where once I thought there was no escaping. A dandelion wish at three years old, birthday candles blown cold, a little life blooming like a weed through the cracks in pavement, time is an opiate.
