Wednesday, March 12, 2008
a couch on the freeway
when it plays, you will hear it. the molecules that make up your body will spin. the room will turn into a hurricane of walls around you. there are archers with flaming arrows behind the 7-11. the leather armchair in the front room has turned into a time machine again. when you lay down in your bed, your body keeps catching on fire. a black lincoln continental is selling acorns from suicide doors. i don't trust it. the porch light in my chest has a burned out bulb. we are born with gravity ringing in our ears. what can i say about the night? your wrist tastes like flying. your collar bone feels like silence. the streets have filled up with gasoline. all it would take is a single match.