::08:03:08::

::: The Next Day :::

people will remember us as the
tragic romance of two orcas,
spouting tales and licking elbows
with the unveiling of a new exhibit
(self-degradation).
people will remember us as
two revolvers driving
on a Sunday morning trip,
still lost in the eve.
it is harmony when we die
for population control.
it is harmony when writhing limbs
entangle in a knotted writhing bunch.
it is harmony when the condom
breaks so we can get married.
[battered whales flee to domestic shelters.]
percolation is her tongue on my
ankle bone, the one that juts just
below my tattoo
and nirvana is her tongue sliding
up slightly to graze the dove’s eye
which threatens to take flight from
coffee skin.
time is a sea nymph on
acid scaling a wall
in the sunshine.
it is not the high
its le proces
a momentary temporal escape
from 101.3 kPa of pure pressure.
inexact and barely defined,
merely a hazy red ripple
in the apogee of reality
is the boundary to Imagism.
potential energy will always
bring us back—jerking
by our necks—
but I like it rough.
unchecked hostility and a
box of Captain Crunch
leaves us epileptically seizing
on the dirty off-white
linoleum floor shaking in spewed mouthfoam.

Written by: ~ Sequoia