A penchant for toils
printed paper, steel wire
There was once a scene depicting two soldiers disrobed and wrestling atop a desert mountain, their movements swirled the sands as they gasped for relief tilting their chins upward for clear passage. With each gukp came gnats of grain that would braille their throats inflecting their breath. Stymied and gassed, the two fell into a slumber of pin wheeling dreams.
Do you feel the cattle prod?
Out in the estuary our feelings once grew, but through the nicks of time the brackish flow has turned crystaline. There are some who say the tech-pimp sought the gunpowder, others drink and have yet to sum the relief etched by the wink.
Unknown gnomes frolic gaily in the shower of debris, as specs of one's and zero's land delightfully on the tips of their lashes.
A driver shovels coal on route to salivating voids awaiting dimpled shells. Buttered friction paves rubber in the swelter, while beads of salty dew trickle toward a naval.
The coolness of a sour quenches unbelievably blue.
Pollen sacs splash a drafting table.
Later in the night while they ready for bed, piratical factoids carve out portals of belief.
Utopic bloodlust sings so proud, -but where are its shoes?
Text by Kiyoshi Whitley