A stasis like it never churned.
We’d never think (and never learn!).
Wide awake and fake perceived,
Our drying eyes then set to–
Stare between dimensions–time traveler’s peep hole–for mesh of all the solid in the screaming; bobbing for right angles; find the eyes for looking back, same but save intent and knowing, crowing: demon eyes and devil things–stick out your finger to make it sting. Index of God’s image (we ever smear the mirror). To slip the grip, to high pitched wailing in ancient tones, to acrid hop and bubble top and drink with Davy Jones–high-low, sporadic, inhuman spit to never quit and gawk and gargle foam. Plummet. Satan’s breadth to pump your stomach: soul burn; to grab your wanker: chlamydia. It’s right behind vibrations of the Latin Nabbus Grabbis. And summon all the nations–hell, we’d like to vote
Yell the name, buy new shoes, high-heel ourselves through traffic to the whistle blower’s blues.
The Hoary Hams of Spreadem: this, that, and the other brother; take the hand of everyman–woman, teat of beast. Spend ’em to the showers. Arch-a-back and scream-a-scream, the antidote for sour cream, to yell the spells of ecstasy–this throttle throat, this mummerboat, this spurt of could-bees over me.
We turn our heads all from the light, the glowing in the back of us, mistook for flames surrounding us. Open mouthed and burned amount, we incubate the succubus.
And bear the brunt–
And a: why you look for living in the places of the dead?
Why: It’s all the dying bodies raised to shopping malls instead.