Break down the walls. Stretching out like dawn along the
border. Yawning in disorder. The anarchy of my lust leaves me empty headed and
I don’t care. Silver line designs on some future that doesn’t look bleak.
Charlie scored the notches. Blues busted on my belt. Soul hungering, lumbering,
through the goods; burrowing in the fleshy folds. Coiled grey matter bathed in
splashing colors. Oh! The effluvium, the busted words my mind spake. Funeral
sparklers, chewing on cheek, watching/feeling fine as the dark rises to meet
the moon, caressed by the borrowed light like a lunar spooning. The muddy
angels grab the gold and fan the flames, burning away the debris of me. Texas
time flows out from the flatlands. The tears run out along the cracks and
crevices. Drought stricken, block writers , knuckle biters inside the ragged
red eyes that pierce the blues skies and then the clouds come again. A tumult.
A tempest. A tortured man-child with second-sight...gather me the gear and
wander off into the brush.
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