signature

1 February 2017

working out a week later that all he wanted me
to do was leave all he wanted to do was
make me leave. sneaker meth authority.
bad dancing. lanky white cap rat face.
wanted to spit too. make people move.
whoever does not want to move. me
32 hrs after acid drop. ain’t moving. cost is
appearance but not interested in either. mental
block for back away. initial fear from smokers
balcony of undercover cop accusal comes back
to haunt. badge number to whatever pig hate i yell.
but still ask badge number. continued drinking second night
blind exuberance, intention of this place is a shouldered venom.
after everything i say, must still edge away
so slow plus stall backwards cause don’t want to get spat
on like i just saw rat face and mate do to someone a minute before.
above stairs get gently pushed in doors. favourite day
club insanity. nothing to do with me. did i say
something. chalky castor street malevolence. Westie
screech. was havin so much fun. Na just couldn’t stop well
lost. back dancing. no use in leaving. till he arrives and hauls
me up on dancefloor. hardly hear his expressive bewilderment
of job still to do. staring inevitable outcome. mucus covers return of
blankness like translucent mask. like the sunglasses i am missing, like this long
unimagined intention. pick beanie up from stand in front of speakers and very slowly
wipe it off. he screams you have to leave. no need for reply just as long as he doesn’t
touch me. and he does not want to fight.
sadness of extremity. joyous loss.

This entry was posted in 57.0: CONFESSION and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related Posts:

Comments are closed.

Please read Cordite's comments policy before joining the discussion.