Dream Walking Savages

Hand me downs and insides-out. Spent. Spoken words mistaken. Your kiss like alienation. I miss you. She cheats death with a smile. Ill disposed. She lingers replacing the landscape of my cortex. The sun sets and I am entranced. Oh me! Caught staring. Hurled into the brightness. She curls her legs around me. Damaged and confronting the symptoms of Rimbaud’s eternity. Layers of beauty upon beauty. You are my reference. The angles etched with thin dexterous fingers. Your face consumes me. Hair jutting in misdirections. Wild like great lovers’ hearts. I’m crucified by the shot of your laughter. Tiny, pulsating veins seeking you out. Down heaven’s highway to my american spirit/clouded lungs. Some might say this is the end.
This my friend is merely a cautionary peel. Superficial wounds yet to be forsaken. I feel it in her stare. I hear it in her moans. Church-state rhetoric, empires that purchase immortality lathered in blood. laundry-mat money. Television eyes screaming prayers of flashing stills. They obey, dulled and sullied by the cost. Jutting down the mainstay. The fat of the land is not mine nor yours. Nations worshiping dead Gods. Happy to get the message out. Unfurled by the suggestion of terminal peace. Scaling the surface.
I say fuck it. I knife through, fortunate enough to still be able to come. My brain climaxes. Spurting incoherence, garbled lies. I am addicted. Day seven: sleepover dazed and lip-ring kisses.


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