This is only a mood piece.
This is...
A monkey on an expedition to circumnavigate the face of God
You hurt me just the right amount.
Set me up just as a body count.
Surround me in ways so few ever do.
By a Japanese master's brush strokes.
My spine is a needle and its being threaded through the canvas.
When existence is only by texture thickly layered onto texture.
Elementals thrashing into spume.
Like peacock feathers in full bloom.
Lipstick spit; nylon dipped; hot wax dripped; cityscape stripped
To the teeth bared back.
Lens flare headlights and growling exhaust pipes.
Copper eyes glinting out the dark.
Out in these lupine days just bright enough.
Everyone sticking onto everywhere from obsessional sweat.
Shirts peeled from surfaces, shoes fetishised in their purposes.
You hurt me just the right amount.
You know I'm your devout.
Seize me as a relic you possess.
Release is slow; every breath as ghosts.
My spine is a weeping tree: leaves may fall but branches remain.
Where you can't see my ribs for the vines laced good and tight.
Skeleton shows sharpened marks from flint.
Sharpened cutlass to slice through the all of it:
Purging flame; curse blowing hurricane; human detonating pain
Of a nuclear blast.
All consumed bones are getting exhumed.
Rake over ashes to see what's glinting out the dark.
I'm in these lupine days just bright enough.
Time as Witness metamorphoses its final form of Time as Absence.
When existence is only folding matters into madness.
When my existence feels like texture.
When my existence feels like time running out.
You hurt me just the right amount.
Draw a chalk outline around what I adore.
When rain is passing, knocking on new town doors,
And softening dirt to get the bodies out.
Ends tend not to be wrapped in bows, but in shrouds.
