I miss heaven

then I think about what its for...

then I'm watching mucus being influenced by dust,

spit celled by detritus on a dry road,

a fast dehydrating route between two towns I didn't/don't want to stop in.

I know the drunkenness of disbelief:
i) bouncing off objects;
ii) trying and failing to move a weight;
iii) reasoning to a crash test dummy;
iv) eating a small portion from an edible bowl;
v) knocking up jokes to the disdain of mutes.

I don't know what it would have been like to have never heard,
   when any words strained me into a pretending that pride could later march into the courts.

I couldn't care about tomorrow when I am as convinced as any other resistance-of-the-past,

nothing so heroic as martyr, just a bad advertisement for tough meat .

this isn't me,

of course,

I am some nothing,

narrating,

cool breezes don't remain effectual for my eternity,

but this might be a story worth acting in,

one where my laugh falls from my skull into my stomach,

one where I finally see myself die, if not because I'm an interesting character, but because I made the transition into one: somewhat plausibly.

one where the audience had left or never arrived and I was shouting so loudly I hadn't been informed.

ok

the minute it takes..

to trace the call,

to ducktape the suspects ******* face,

is the same minute a family home explodes in a cross section cutscene like 24.

more prisoners escape,

******, pretty, but they're spies.

suckers got forks stuck in their eyes.

the trucker died, his hat now a subtle disguise.

soft talk and the novice gaurd complied.

I told the brass this whole ******* place needed modernised.

shot gun cabinets unlatched,

the last batch of canteen fat contained celephaned grendades.

outside it rains and mud slides thick as the chase vehicles flip onto their sides.

the helicopter follows a costumed imposter through the shadows of a suburban night.

people thrown out the way on the street like extras in a detective series.

"Freeze: get on your ******* knees"

"Ive got nothing to lose, ive got the the ******* hostage and im offering a trade off

don't ******* shoot,

or ill put a hole in this ***** bigger than you can fix pig, twitching at the trigger,listen quick

take a step back or ill do it, push me ******* cop".

blood on the concrete runs thin as it navigates and mixes with no forgiveness or mission.

track back until the dead are insect sized, centred in the wide shot of the city, wait a beat then credits rise.

not to get caught or crushed, that is the revolution.

not to get slowed or dissolved, that is the revolution.

not to get beautiful, that is the revolution.

not to accumulate a community of pride, that is the revolution.

to get what you say to be as fresh as the first for those second or last

the burning has stopped, the healing not started,

to fold inward on the observer, to disappear from the follower

survive the moment in a continuum of no lasting narrative,

it has everything you want, if you want it, some stranger wants you not to have that. and your ******* screaming that to yourself.

that is the revolution, the paranioa, and it makes energy for no reason.

it is refusal dropped into an infinite echoing well that few know how wretchedly it stinks

its a life inside that poisons the life around and proves we are a growth not growing

the revolution dogs with no name nor master nip for respect until shot

women abusing themselves in their own minds with acted voices , clawing the skin from how somebody loved them

we all cry at the same time, that is the revolution.

where I drifted to this morning, filled me with burning,

I had known I was emptied but nobody had yet tempted me to turn,

I've got no time left, everyone thought that but me,

I guess now my memory is working I'll get what I need.


I've got nothing and love seems to escape on my breath,

the more I explain the less I have anything left.

I won't cheat this time, even if they want my shame,

I'll play no game that after me they can play again.


the next day is disarming, then comes the lost afternoon,

inside they evict me, but they just dont want to feel used,

I don't want empathy, just pepper my prisoner food,

read into nothing that reads nothing into, you.

driven at night ive seen sights that make life look less like leisure,

and more like self harm for group super pleasure,

your not at the edge of this,

unless you get that sub-dom affection looking like special effects,


I  accelerate slow, park, put on the the light, around a quarter to four.



she tapped her nail , amplified by the glass,

a note smeared the window misting, she stared over my coffee flask, intimately into my cocked submission,

her emaciated wrist has this diamond bracelet, it's shaking, as she points directions beyond restaurants and offices,

one too many cocktails slipped by this ruling consciousness,

now she invites in my taunts of a 30ish nihilist, "shh, just drive us".

snorting coke off the plastic payment dish,

using the twenty shes paying me with,

hooked up to my rhythm,

nobody is left not menaced, in a rolling evolution into avarice,

isn't the skyline marvelous,

the ad-hoc sprawl, minerals raw,

rear view see her chewing her face off,

directions useless, i'll let you out here, I believe you,

wave the fair, but leave the door, i need the air.

This is pathetic,
you are pathetic,
I've counted seconds around you, felt them (they are glassy),
I've done rude things to nice people when nobody admits this,
my poise is tense,
by tense I mean elastic in a non-wooden way, i mean potentially,
it snaps because I've met you in a universe and thats real enough,
theres lots of reasoning going on,
nobody agrees with me because they know ill take myself down on this one, those watchers.
sometimes doors open for charm, other times for lepracy
so I have said what I came to say, your an *******.