Oaths And Odes And Stubborn Walls.
I was sitting on my mother's balcony, smoking and staring at the blinding sky, thinking of animated cut.outs from a sci-fi movie as a missile plane was launched out of the clouds. The world could've exploded and it would've been so intensely cold, ice statues to lick and trap your tongue against. But sunrises, they kill me with their uncertain colours. If they turned into nite instead of day, dew would perhaps drift from the trees and create curtains of rainstars. I take a shower and the mirror can't decide which moment it's reflecting so I stand still and listen to the whispers and all I can tell is whether it's coming or going or everending. My knees are bruised from climbing stairs and I wonder if I should be praying or fucking like the Sun instead.
Whenever I blink around these hours, everything rushes into stillness and this is morning quiet, rustling wings I can't touch -for my fingers are sleepy, my eyes are wavering oceans closing in, me and the air and this respectful distance between us. November sinking its fucking pointy little teeth in every v of my body, breathing in synch and its shadow shaping odd anatomies, carnivals of evil on my skin. I lean down in the bathroom and a flash of this mid.apocalyptic image, slow.motion soldiers in tall grass -morphing elephants to Massive Attack attacking green walls with strobing lights. And my stomach breaking stones, wanting more than needing but killed by smoke and fuck, I just don't know anymore.