To your already effed up hair.
A good bird resides in the pink cave of your lung and his commonalities with you are that you both picture yourselves diving off the cool side of a sea frozen to resemble a parisian diamond. You hold his canary yellow stick hand and gently guide him to the rim, assuringly and offhandedly. A green moss wind butters the nudge, and the little bird friend goes away, tufts of sputtering illegible words written by clouds are all the things anyone says. A goodbye unbought, uncaught in a throat, unapologetic, misgiving-less about what never was wrote, as if it were ages when smoke mailed the message and presently neither of you had anything to toke, let alone a box or a red metal flag to alert anyone of your arriva derci note
Where I have gone, I would not go back
My partner is a panda because he doesn’t go down on me n fail n then roll over and pick up his I 5 n start talkn about intangible value while my pussy sighs
Even the sea is divided
Night in a box
jury of pinpricks of day
Fallen sky in a sea of weeds
Bailiff of tomorrow
Policy police patrol the prison of fixed light
On this hour
off that hour
cloaked and tantrumless the opening of black eyes
cornea of ash
Verdict of timeless crime
Locked into the frame of what’s seeable, without the gavel’s fall or the iron pound of hammers vicariously thrown by dead victims
Sentenced to walk the widows hall
Chained to the teeth of the rabid dog
Chained to its own mange claws, starved, boneless, mad with broken dreams through the glass eye, mottled with the steam of longing from its own breath, a night sky behind a lens behind a rage, behind disbelief behind the imperfection of perception. focus lost like a frisbee thrown into dark sky, never to return to ground.
The act ends. The act begins.
The audience shifts in its planetarium seats
Everything alluringly lit out of reach