A New Place Round here there is a place I know Where all the dreamers’ weavers go. And grind their teeth on buffalo beef and suck on bread. They gnaw on my fingers with their gums until their teeth break through. All the bald men stake their claim to a stray wig floating in the rain. They force a laugh during evening Mass and bow their heads. They offer me drawings sprawled on cardboard boxes and paint the town pale blue. In the schoolyard, the parents weep for lost loves, lost lives and lost sleep. They play with chalk against the wall and nothing is said. They wipe their noses on their sleeves and offer me the pool cue. The old ones make their trips down South and dribble from their open mouths. Their nostrils breathe like baggy sleeves and purpose has fled. They drown my hopes in their wet eyes and clutch their cans of special brew. Pale teens sell dreams from market stalls with metal teeth and shaven balls. They contort their spines for skeletal mimes and bleed out red. They force tubes down my throat and shed my skin like PVA glue. I live inside a metal grid that’s covered by a hollow lid. And all my days are salted waves and I’m born undead. They touch my flesh with saggy skin and tell me I am brand new. // :)
Posted on: Fri, 08 Aug 2014 15:27:09 +0000
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