This song plays in my head as I stand on the fence across from the mall. Quickly, urgently, I smoke a cigarette. A single drop of rain falls on the corner of my mouth. This brings me into the sense-memory of kissing you. There is visceral truth in these tightly-spun lyrics.
I, unhinged, sorry
Hold care for you
Begin to love`
And who else
the city lifts you on a bicycle
and the wind! The wind on your rich lips!
our eyes alight with tempest
your visage now lost to the crowd
(penned partially in Zagreb May 2016)
People like ripples! Like waves!! People as titillating shots of color across the wilds of substance. Moldeable smudges of thick wind. The reason to be. The reason to run. Felted skeins of wet simile. Ship-weary believers. Threaded points of light. Desirous spools of multicolored years. Limp threats of boil, tongues of endive. A heliotropic phrase book. Wizened dream-state prophesies. A wedge of dark soil. An aching pool of unwashed buck-shot. Tuneable shocks. Twistable You.