the moon was a broken dog that floated at my feet.
a tail for tricks and the kickback rain to puddle.
the anointed air wept a mystery into the throats of roses.
neon climbed highrise and twisted the knotted air
into vague shapes like barbed wire cackling a witchy sound.
the hammer fist throb of a locomotive rushed the black
and backed it into piss pond door frames.
like a zoo cage.
like the stench of ages.
i caught a faint whiff of burning meat that hung threaded.
wax like and bogus. a mockery of food to the fools of booze.
catch the rattle of the milk float.
catch the rubber squeak of the paper boy as he perspires
his paper chase round past the rustle of the pig pen pigeons.
above and below.
towering and cowering.
stand the columns of cash in brash statements of concrete and...
hush, hush, here come the bipeds. bright and burnished.
facing the day down with a sense of being.
of being.
what?
.
.
.
all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.
