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by Ace Cabbage |
Coniferous Mirages awake aware awash in needles. passed over by bird-shit pisslings malt-liquor birdie hatchlings get pitched beneath the kindling on top of the moss... and a rock most mercilessly hoarded by caveman chore-boys passing stuffy cooking fires sizzling logs sweating piss peeling back bark stringy and sinewy in strips. the coals all but indelibly mark their bed and dispatch elemental ghosts who like the sparks seldom rise above the needle-top forest canopy- and the ghosts emitted admitted relations with eagle scouts and religions and moss and fog transmissions and the relief sighs of sizzles and pops from fuel-drum fires whose legacy is secure among they whose piss stench is usually hidden- frozen in overcoats and army jacket undershirts. The Sucker and the Black Hole A lonely fat man in an eighty-three Ford LTD loitering five AM playing police roulette in the parking place of a twenty-four hour gas station. Watching slowly shaking head disbelieving and scared. Behind the gas station the big kmart blacktop monster parking lot eats itself but stays black right back to it's original perimeters... still blacktop black and immortal. Terrified of a swirling black plasma-dervish parking lot while his rearview mirror looks on and an intermittent cigarette lighter haunts him and lures him into placing a certain wager he has no interest in... and that arrogant little father of brown-lipped upholstery burns? it's hard to resist like hypermarket lighting... or a tax refund... sucker bait that snags him every time- especially five AM alone hallucinating begging to be busted trying to ignore a hungry parking lot and expecting a letter from a cat that hasn't yet been born.
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| Edited By Jim Chandler & Haze McElhenny Site Design & Cover Graphics By UrbanDecay.Org |
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