Please don't line up the candles. Trade ten of mine to give her a decade more to get her house in order, to strip the blame from her husbands mouth, to shame the mother into proper exile on an isle of lepers and lifers. To thrust this beast I do the dirty spoon with into oblivion. Instead, we wallow in the wreckage , the shadow stealer and I bring the rear up to new lows . we wade through puddles of dust rapel down cliffs of frozen blood. we land on the moors of the annointed forgotten. we rub bones together for fire.I pitch the shards and shrapnel as a screenplay to myself. I wear the pigs head. Fully catered with yesterday's bones and gizzards and smut gluttony to set a course unpaved and ahead, behind, beside, beyond, within.
Where to go from here but another dog eared page in the beat pleading for contact, kneaded wafer thin in need , cooked on the corners, raw in the middle of nowhere. Ah the laughter cued up, aligned with the film, cooked into melted focus by the burn of the bulb. A quick edit, a stealth exit. Whipsmart agony from dragging the deep forbidden lake , sizzled in the coals rake.
The endless serenade. The quelled chorus, the heady refrain. Cheer up Charlie, your golden ticket is one way, southbound, hot to the touch. Window seat please.
Ghosts with the skin peeling off in the napalm mist, in their molten grip, they hold your boarding pass.
Free at last.