A room filled with smoke and drink and
knives in pockets. A man in a grey suit
sits at the bar and lights a cigar.  

He can smell violence in the air here. Metallic and
sickly sweet. He grins with anticipation and orders
a drink. Old Fashioned.

A short time later in a room filled with smoke
and blood and knives gripped in dead hands,
a man in a red suit laughs softly and sips an
Old Fashioned.

I sit in a forest, with my back against a large oak,
and listen. Among rustling leaves and
whining cicadas I hear something else.
Something larger.

It's moving through the forest on jointed legs,
snapping the branches of century old trees.
An insect the size of a castle. It lets out a cry.
Sounds like a thousand year old whale's
death rattle. The cicadas stop whining and I
shudder.

It's heading to the lake to breed,
or to die. Their kind begins and ends in water.
Very morbid creatures, they are.

I can feel its steps shake the earth as it comes
closer and then I see it. Ten long, jointed legs
support the bulk of the thing. It towers over me,
silver. Its shell is a knight's armour and its red
eyes are the devil's. I stand up in awe of the
colossal bug as it lumbers past me, blocking the sun
and casting me in shadow for a while.

I light a cigarette and listen to it move through the forest.
Eventually, I can't hear it anymore and the cicadas
start to whine again.

A dark haired loser and a kaleidoscope
girl with a perfect ***.
What will happen when
we overflow?
Will we forget, just
for a while
how we're not
supposed to?

I'm worried. Or
aren't I? I wish I was.
Don't I? If I do and if I am,
then maybe we won't.
And that would be...
Okay

My head is all snakes
and your skin, pale
and writhing, and I wonder
what the weather's like
in Ireland. Mild, probably.

My usual rhythm is ******
when I hear a sound
you make. You throw
me off balance and
I'm worried I'll fall
right past my reservations,
and into a pit of pale skin
and poisonous snakes.

We're all dead here, so go ahead
and smoke. Have a drink. Play a game.
Sleep, or don't.
****.

Go! Tear yourself apart living,
if only just to spite the bored
and the apathetic.

Outside is warm and trees
or cold and grey.
It's nice, enjoy.

I'll sit here and wait quietly.
Not just bored. Not only
apathetic, but made up.
Illusory.

A reflection in tinted glass,
waiting for something interesting
to happen.