July Seven

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I woke with the ants and flies-they were thrilled to see me! I did not share their enthusiasm, but they knew not to take it personally. The sun beams stabbing through the trees were in sync with their almost undetectable, indecipherable buzzing, clicking and chatter. I could appreciate even in my state of paradox. I felt both raw and dead. That’s not something that I could easily explain to them, but I think they could relate somehow through their perpetual ecstatic state. Its not anything to fault them for: that’s just the natural form of their existence. Something so basic and primitive, yet so advanced that it is beyond our grasp.

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The risk was sweeter to swallow them whole
Concussed, non-plussed, and humming
With another bastard’s throat
Fall asleep in the middle
If there’s nowhere to go
Shop back or forth
If the shot is too slow
Glance and wink at the camera
Its again and again
Tamed glasswork fucker
Its again and again
That slang was bitter: and
The idea of ghosts
Let’s plant a receiver
To dig up the hoax
Burnt, or hollow, or [spinning (turning)]
Around another limbless crutch
Nothing left in the middle
Or at least untouched
Former badge and current seal
Its again and again
Red-blind house puppet
Its again and again
And again it begins
I’ve got me sticks, you’ve got your clay…
So what of a better day?