down the 3:45a

di. two twos are no more four. the streets erupt in blasts of atrocious fluorescence. i suck in a sackful of air. and the atmosphere is a little green woman with lung cancer. methyl. your mouth tastes something like like. the rain scavenges upwards in brittle lines. everything is Plasticine. she sits hunched, coughs up phlegm. thunderbirds will come home soon. i will croon to you. your thigh taut against mine. the inside of me is no more the inside of me. even before the big bang, i knew. galaxies are crayoned with lipstick. gutters brim. my spine is riveted desire. tryptamine. i forget my name, watch you collapse. a bird beats under your skin. i want to eat your heart out. the little green woman is ash. her eyes are garnets seething with life.

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8 thoughts on “down the 3:45a

  1. Well..remindS me so much that the beauty of spirit..is so much farther than skin..deep.. as when i died in life..my aunt of 94..wrinkled crippled hobbling alone..
    And
    more spirit than me..more spirit in voice..
    than i could ever imagine
    to
    have
    then..
    at
    47…
    i love that women..
    she taught the most valuable lessons
    of
    all
    SPIRIT
    IS
    INVISIBLE
    AND CAN BE MORE POWERFUL
    AT ANY AGE!
    IT
    LIVES
    WITHIN!
    AND
    EXPRESSES
    OUT
    SIDE..IN THE SMILE
    OF AN ANGEL
    2
    OR
    94
    YEARS
    OLD!
    THE ANGELIC SPIRIT
    REMAINS THE SAME!
    GARNET OR BLUE EYED LIFE FOR
    ALL TO SEE!

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