parallaxis

fixation alley

slippers on fire, little acid fingers

and go nowhere near scorpion springs, el flacido; like

something sad and soft, there stirs a pathetic and petite prick

locked in safety in one number, prophetically dislodged, slipped loose

and sunk low, through the noose.

sail away to rise moon-high on tip toe and all afire

slippers on fire, little acid fingers

she is your fix she is your nightmare she is all you want (to be)

she is she is, this she sees through the loops of your own eyes

trying not to look her way, trying not to stare for today

hush now, foreign piece, go to rest where it is best

for you

go now.

she is india ink, green to be black to

you, plaka brightly bland craven-a smooth, cracked thick surface

deeply first, flaked in pans

that leave and follow words from the world -

she is nothing 'till they return, nourished and irrigated by

fat water drops (infused synapses stretched to receive)

drought is the feed, little acid fingers,

the famine is the ear

the orifices fill up with signs and ciphers

slowly seep those fillings, leaking in though mostly it is a feeling in the head

of deepest blotting, rare addiction

this fixation, slippers on fire, little acid fingers

paint on, paint on, paint on

seasofme181016parallaxis