this contusion-colored evening
maybe you paint the silhouette
of the gaunt tree line singed in '97
when wildfires threatened my development
and the swallowed towns the Klan had founded
the shaded sand dens were Party Caverns
for them who'd come hallucinate while we slept
scaring our rabbits to death in their hutches
I can't remember how I used to live
but they've all cased their jumps
fatally I willed it to be
in the hours of blankness preceding sleep
oh the years we waste faking remorse
every decision I have ever made
bred the branching future's mute howlers
with burst-vessel red eyes roaring inaudibly
on the freezing morning walk to the corner grocery
what hangs over big empty country
reborn in negatives of photos of dusk
regret so huge it's on a phantom axis
receding beaches hissing hearing damage
the miles-long column on cold moonlight cast across still seas
when my nose begins to bleed
some submitted to having their lights put out
by the basement thrill killer of the neighborhood
I heard being murdered is no experience
ten or eleven wounds in
"It's not about Satan or anything. You just die-- It's weird."
this contusion-colored evening maybe you paint the silhouette of the gaunt tree line singed in '97 when wildfires threatened my development and the swallowed towns the Klan had founded
the shaded sand dens were Party Caverns for them who'd come hallucinate while we slept scaring our rabbits to death in their hutches I can't remember how I used to live
but they've all cased their jumps fatally I willed it to be in the hours of blankness preceding sleep oh the years we waste faking remorse
every decision I have ever made bred the branching future's mute howlers with burst-vessel red eyes roaring inaudibly on the freezing morning walk to the corner grocery
what hangs over big empty country reborn in negatives of photos of dusk regret so huge it's on a phantom axis receding beaches hissing hearing damage the miles-long column on cold moonlight cast across still seas when my nose begins to bleed
some submitted to having their lights put out by the basement thrill killer of the neighborhood I heard being murdered is no experience ten or eleven wounds in "It's not about Satan or anything. You just die-- It's weird."