Two days became one in Unholy Matrimony
Tokens and photographs
I wear my Casio like a medal
We stood on the bridge, ants staring into a mirage
The water stank of piss, sewage rolling over smooth pebbles and stones, piebald glissando
This feels like an illusion alright.
The hot cup burned my tongue as again I forewent the spangled lampshade for something more destructible.
Leather eyes lurched left and right and drenched curls scraped back from an enticingly oiled pate smooth like skin of a chestnut, a single furrow: current burying through wet bed of sand
What are they looking for?
Boats crash past each other’s wash in a frenzy to get there and back. A flurry to sell a sinking ship.
It seems more alive today but I wander through it like a ghost
Look at that face. Footsteps run past as I read, “Brown hands spurt it to the chest”
It must be a thankless job working in an airport.