Mold and Ash Collection
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A burning house on a hill in the night,
Could well be mistaken for a man, with a light.
A vision, plenty strange though lead the way it might.
You follow each bird taking flight
As your eyes sharpen, your teeth glisten out,
your ears turn and lower in freight.
Now the smoke reaches your muzzle,
Tongue clicking - You were right!
It is a man on the hill in the night,
And he burns will all the fire of his fight.
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I Talk In My Sleep
The whole town smells like piss and shit.
There’s a strange mist in the air…
If yesterday every street had been attacked
By a smoke machine
I should have heard about it.
The wind is stunted.
There are no newspapers around,
Or news to tell about.
This morning nothing travels
Except the coffee on the side of my chin
And the radio waves.
Or whatever creates this incessant buzzing
Whatever brings your words
Straight to me.
The sun is milky.
The guy on his scooter
Is the only guy breathing.
It’s too hot,
Too heavy to close my mouth.
It smells like waiting;
No promises made.
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It’s not easy sitting still.
I would much rather act a fool;
Imagine you watching me dance
And think I was some thing free.
Like the jester reaches for your smile
My fingers are crooked
And the shame cripples my back.
I stare stupidly out of some window
Because of all this hope.
I can’t stop it pouring out of myself
In buckets.
I am the horrible mechanic,
Chewing the inside of my cheek,
Surprised that anything happens;
Devastated when the oil spills.
Who ever has thought
That they could care
And be cared for, in return.
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I clench my little fingers
I grit my grown up teeth;
When I shake my head
Because the sense hurts,
I start talking in my sleep.
I nearly give away my secrets
To the girl stealing my pillow;
I dream of the fistfight,
Of punching through your teeth,
Aiming for the yellow.
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Yesterday is black.
I don’t know how days go by
Just how days arrive.
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Trickle, trickle, my fingers through your palm
I miss the teeth that they pulled out of me.
The year has been long
And they’ve drawn too much blood.
If cars were racing out on the street
If the world in an instant decided to flee,
I simply wouldn’t know.
Because at night I shut my blinds
And I clasp my hands to my ears.
Waiting for the horror to pass.