Tardive Dystopia

I left the stair...

We tarried
Through this s p a c e
Proud and storied
Our dreams at our feet
All we knew we left there too...

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In this vivid metropolis we need the sting
Boys hoist their mothers and syringes over their backs for a reasonable time
For a reason

After parturition the boys rejoin their languid huddle once more to talk about the sweet breast milk that stains their tongues

In this city the citizens read aloud in a muddled fury consequencing and consuming assumptions of one another as disquieted babies eat the last morsels of the written word

The strange electric nights are frightened of this crowd
They are the sickness aroma
Their verdict bleeding all over the ground
Out of that metallic gusher springs a new skag

A l u l l w i t h p u r p o s e

I sleep with these fools from time to time
I am mother and maiden when they fall
Groundskeeper deep beneath frozen lands
Narrator of the confused

We are home to one another
A root
Rooted
We summon the lightening and make it fine

We are not angry. We are not happy.
We are not —

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Here it is...

I am not foretell —

I will not procure motives of prestige —

I seethe what has already been caught and disturbed —

In an image of swirling coffee I now can clarify the mistakes our minds made up. The soft needle will not break. Our armor, for now, is safe.

We did something. We spun our feet in the wrong direction. We fucked destination in front of journey. Envy and self-pity were roomers in our hypodermic house. I am not confessing to be saddened by this. I am not confessing. Or what you, my unseen friend, need me to say or do is not my responsibility. Only my purpose.

We did something. I do not know that thing. My chase is ongoing. My needle is still inside the city. The boys are still reading aloud to one another confusing the older ones. I can hear their mumbles because I am inside their mouths. I am connected to their assumptions. Their rage. Their soft, fire-yellow rage.

We did something and the vivid metropolis became our skin. Tight as leather until we could no longer feel. Our eyes were glazed with a false opulence. We medicated our guardian and our guardian became an addict. But that is not where the fault lies. The fault lies behind the eyes of our fear. It used us until we laid claim to retrograde.

We did something and the awakening wore off. We remained in the soup of our lust and were not caught off guard. We each found our place along the dank streets of the city. I was in government housing
CoUghInG and sw im m ing
COUgHing and swi mm in g

Others were licking themselves like cats

Others were procreating with melancholy

Others were not there at all

We did something and all fantasy ripped apart. We clawed to get ahold of something that was an illusion. Something not of us. This unsomething terrified and consumed us.

Mother, as I lay pretend dying will you sing me a song

Something beneath radio waves

Accompanied by scratches and hiccups

Mother, will you bathe the boy inside this cracked picture frame

…That’s fine. I just wanted to ask

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In the before

When our city revolved around our needs

When thought was the last refuge we ever considered

When danger was not outside our comfort zone

We had the calm burn of our slow, gray sun

That soothe maddened us incompletely insincere

In the before

When we assumed we were here.

We were here

We were here

We were always here.