slivers

A seizing lack of safety ebbs into the black pulse of the night sky. Bass thump from a parked car. Razor-sharp awareness as I puff and watch a single blurred star. The churn of bowels, sink spewed hair-clog.

Dots swallowed back to bring the sea. My tub cleansing. Blue galaxy dancing. Bloated body.

A bohemian blanket over torn jeans. Cup of coffee to sip instead of lean. My silver-soaked dreams. The artist is anything but crystalline.

Rupture the child sedated from a volcanic breakdown. We know well the sound. Glass shatters across the parking lot. A door slams shut.

Neon-lit faces dappled in darkness. The bare wildling sees LSD and throws her body wildly from the truck bed, moving in a rhythm of bright red. To shed the humanity, to become lightning. Trap beat ceiling vibrating.

Dead eyes of moon-drought. Craters on the thighs and wrists. A faded poked-tattoo. Snow prophecies sputtered to the blank crowd.

Maniac minds. Caffeine moves my feet forward on the concrete. Dull is the hearts throbbing for faux-fantasies. It's the scene, you know, or you’re lucky and you don’t.

Dope drop. The alarm starts to go off. Cursing and scampering become the heroines of the dead-heads. Litter fills the lawns as they all speed off.

Pump up the afterparties in old town vacancies. A barn with the roof caving. Leaked dust, and the rust of the soul. Once diamond-innocence becomes a forty-year desert, all dry-mouth, always craving, never satiated from the thirst for knife’s edge pain, only to escape and escape, only to wake and to wake, sunburned and nauseated from the junk-emptiness.