The capital, the hunch terror pound and lactating pustules of hope – you know –but do you know the word of mouth that spreads the rumours of the heart? Naming into the lock of the morning; capitulating tartlets of happiness shrouded with glum. Those who seek, lost in the shrubbery of authority find no remorse, and mercy is a loose trade with no interest.
Two girls lie together in the dark. Curled up: head to toe and toe to head. The feeling’s mutual. The cold sets but it’s far away and the usual marks resound in the distance. Buddha-bashing and sow swearing like a whore baptizing a prodigal son. You saw that night coming long before the dusk set in.
Heap and turning gold, a shallow grave for crabs and things. Your toes shifting through these dunes as the sun beckons onward always towards the west and the death of all things open. Tiny pincers grabbing and mouths perpetually swallowing hell, “Where’s that prize now?” someone echoes in confusion.
The tourists walk by and stare aghast.
“Surely it must have washed up from somewhere?” one of them asks me.
The devil’s sister raised her leg and pointed her toes, striking the brain with a crackling noise: War guns going off in the head of the family and bullets issuing from the mouths of blood relations. BAM BAM BAM over lunch time.
Haunted places that showed through the cracks in the walls where fire is lit around a gathering innocence. Heaven’s reprise in the nightmare’s cool centre.
They’d gotten there after a 13th birthday, dressed in cowboy hats and superwoman underpants, dancing around vacuum cleaner poles thinking it was the best thing to do for people their age.
The father had issued harsh regrets towards the son.
They moved on.