moaning time.
Hygiene in the holes and clean stares from fog mirror. Shut up. Old mexican blanket covering the window and ancient smell of wet stones and cigarettes. Hes a baby, well arent most humans? Hes lazy, well i moved it and i sold it like used cars and blew up internally, the gizmos and tinkers melting, covered in cheese. Covered in butter and slid into the oven, a real feast of friends, jim, apple in mouth basted up the ass, sweating and red, i shuffle and sand. Go away like it. Waves in the night, bright night, without night light, without the right type, white light, under the wrong life.
at the mall in ‘91, tiles and glass elevators, where are all the other kids? My lion king vhs chewed up and stored in a box somewhere, along with other storage units filled with lives and wives and knives and files and bile and all the while more things pile up in homes and on the road and in the street, and other open spaces that only cause vision to be convoluted by objects and theres not even any empty space for anything new to move on it, only bind to old things and make creatures roaming sad by the beach and in the nightclubs now empty, and the silent street, only sound of feet, dress shoes on the walk. Im glad everything is closed. I am closed. Used to be 24 hours, yep, til too many customers ya see, so i shut ‘er down, and now i make a good use of my time digging for pieces of the past to shine up and show you excited, or a useless somethingorother so we can play, and there arent those things ive been excited about before, i know im going to wake up tomorrow and breathe, i know im going to wake up the next day and sit, and im going to do this until i cant wake up again, and then ill be bedridden for the rest of my breathing, staring, time here watching fast, watching what exactly? do nothing and having sight of physical apparitions who are only ghosts that keep my company.
drool for droll.
