| listen...do you hear that? there's something | |
| coming. sounds just like a storm. no...wait. | |
| that's not right. too clean. too sterile. | |
| too much like instruments unwrapped | |
| for amputation. this here, this is more like | |
| rust scraping off iron spike. more like | |
| steam pipe. boiler room. furnace. more like | |
| "tear the fucking sky in half, pull god to earth by the throat." | |
| more like inferno. blast radius. engine grinding hard against | |
| stuck gear and the diesel is dripping near open flame. | |
| every drop of blood in your veins is screaming to be spilled. | |
| it's three a.m. and everything is closed except the parking lots. | |
| everything is washed in flame. or is it fog? every light in | |
| the sky is a town crier's torch. | |
| three a.m. and all is not well! | |
| I have been spitting out all of my teeth one by one, | |
| spitting to make mud, and Jesus Christ is | |
| screaming at me in my sleep, so | |
| I don't sleep much anymore. | |
| the voice on the radio speaks to me through crackle, | |
| he tells me about the black helicopters. | |
| clandestine operations, the secret drug trials | |
| experimenation under cover of night. | |
| coffee helps to keep me awake in the darkest moments | |
| but as of late its been swishing around my mouth | |
| like tin. like something warm and rotten. spit it | |
| back into my wallet where blood should be. | |
| give me new skin to crawl back to where it's dry... | |
| listen. do you hear that? something's coming. | |
| sounds juts like a storm. |
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