Where the slug licks, there lick I

Where the slug licks, there lick I. Where the womb of the soil grows eyeteeth and cysts, there bloats the wounded boar, there sinks the moon of our desire. Kick rock, break toe bone, chase what doesn’t live, flee what never was. Lie back and let the fungus do its job. You see shapes in the clouds, but they don’t see any shape in you. You enjoy getting drunk more than water does. Assume animal position, speak to the grave-gunk that blankets spinball of our hopeless awakening. Personally, I’d rather be on the open sea, under an impossible storm, where the needle runs demented through the points and I might as well be no-there at all.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s