No month, decade, moment is cruel, horribilis-
Fur coats wave wands at admirers
blaming,
ruptures in nerve endings cause knee-jerks denting suds
sending the spine into g-forces, axis,
organs bump skin-
but no tick clock caused a baton brought down
on your language. Your tongue,
made it.
And whilst I wither on the sidelines of interaction,
I'll make my own time boundaries-
blank clock faces twisting into letters-
the dream train headbutts willow branches
bending them to submission,
stewardess offers drugs
and John and Yoko fuck on your white walls,
girl bends backwards, dragon head-
tiny buzzing of lilac insects licking.
Snail pace catches up to my forehead
and leaves slimy trails that mutate
into gods.
They leave when they're done, declaring abstinence,
enjoying bright stings in the choroids
tearing up manifesto after manifesto beating down
like the monsoon that never arrived,
papilla punctures,
atarres aro, atarres aro, atarres aro,
starves the head.
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