surfing on flat

the burn in the eyes of a sniffling child
runs wild across the furniture
my eyes alight in varied torches
the lone role of a wondering, freshly pulled toilet paper roll
fluttering in the flat wind of a dusty fan...

the recipe compiles like files of dust
like mr gabber words at his best or hers.

and they wait for an answer
index tapping,

the night comes...
impatiently waiting for day to arrive

i ask the rising light what stubborn lifts the sun
my only answers are green
and give me oxygen

i ask them: hold down the sun
like Joshua's prayers held it up...

let some stars become the guardians
of the dayness.

let
Ra and Horus take a Swedish in Galaxy Abell 1835 IR1916,

let
women hanging
on to the edge of beautiful

rejecting lusters
yet needing them to fill their worth

men pretending they know themselves
pretending to show themselves to others
peeling their flesh in private, digging with a knife for their souls,

let them remember when we were herds
experiencing together the tumult of hurtling seasons
the circus of jungle where we made our danger

let them forget today
where the neighbors we keep
only know that someone sleeps next door without a name.

let them remember the vision
covered in ash
but smoking.