September 30, 2015 § Leave a comment

heroin deaths. aids. no words in two months, almost three.

word deaths.

things feel different.

unusual in the sense of time.

twenty year old actions and thoughts surfacing from movies, city workers, old songs newly discovered, the asphalt scraped and shot through the air, caught in mechanical yellow jaws only to be broken again.

dust dirtying everything.

could be the tropical sweat, running water across the street, pipe corpses strewn on their sides.
the death of material things.

no, the routine of boredom.

a constant spin of ticks, tick, tick, ticking in reverse, counter-time wise fast.
slow down, man. nothing has changed

or everything has.


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