Friday, February 23, 2007

After the first hit
the boy fell back onto the bed
and threw his head back
letting a great laughter pour out
high pitched and terrifying,
teeth bared like a mongrel,
voice losing all signature and tone
growing more and more hysterical
until predictably
his brain exploded
in a galaxy of atoms blue, black, red
pulsing out of sequence
like plastic stars --

His eyes..poor boy,
miserable radioactive boy
every useless vowel
writhing and collapsing on the carpet
giving way to
moist, cold silence --

"The bureau knows all your registration numbers, friend.
Leper's hand flew away to the Dogstar";
in the end all this meant nothing.


Blogger porcelain skull said...


great to see your words here,


1:53 am  
Blogger Cocaine Jesus said...

discharge always produces the unexpected.
me thinking art and you producing words.
all good though. better than good.
funny how these words roll away my last forty years.

8:19 am  

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