Tomorrow is Sick of You Salacious Voyeurs

 

tomorrow is a errant delusion

a terrible addiction

we can’t shake

a cold we can’t break

a lover we can’t escape

sir you’re making a scene

they scream

because I’m holding the nipple hair of tomorrow

and I know it’s fairy floss not spider’s silk

so I bite bite bite

until my teeth rot,

on that candy

you can’t binge on

like you did when you were young

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The Highway Is It’s Own Destiny—When We’re All Gone There’ll Be Nothing Left But Road. Bury Me Under The Overpass With My Name Written In Aerosol And A Bloody Tissue On My Bitumen Tombstone.

We’re not right for each other

We’re right in the line of the machine

Rolling on

Down that dusty highway M8

Everyday

Until there’s nothing left behind the stealth-screen of dust

But a closed alley

That goes everywhere

 

29/12/17


Photo by Denys Nevozhai on Unsplash