In the beginning there was the word. These are the words. A black plastic skull filled with plastic beads. He shakes this. A safety pin. A promise ring. Continuity fckd with. Dried apple skin in teeth. Fresh basil with soda water, gin. Alleged thieves fit through windows. Hercules in retrograde. A pinch of salt. A snake charm. Cream and sugar. Dancing to the music you are making with your mouth. Marcia manada nos a playa and listen to a man on the Calimba and then we skip rocks and trade gold. A distance is determined. Fit for your arrival. Solvent. Remain no more faded. Don’t ask for it. It was always yours. The inconstant persistence of the sleeplessness verging on the concept of drunkenness. All since lost minds. Kneeling at roadside his hair, dense and greasy as pasta. Himalayas upon the backs of elephants. The nine year old girl smokes djarums. A lightmare. Lord and Lady. Long enough for saliva to cool in the mouth, for fingernails to grow. I’ll return before the water evaporates. Madre, blood maiden, all neo-noir in Too Dark Park. A throttle of bees round your neck. Legacy. Lunacy. teef yb dehsurc dnas fo taeb eht ot klaw I. Amara the Indian soon to vanish. Venice sinks a little further. Juniper falls inexplicably silent. This era’s end, begins. The streets are paved with water. C’mere.www.sundaymorningwarship.com
