Goldfish Memory
This is all goldfish memory and piano fire, ratlines
And chicken wire. Fiberglass heads with holes smashed in
And all sorts of metal swinging, pipe wielding, crow bar-demons
And the scissor-legged things…they will cut out your throat…
The jug-eared fiends and spider-lipped men
Who mean to rip us down like dead ships
In some dead bay.
Robotic robotic,
metallic like dust
Static static,
I can’t hear my own voice.
Numb numb
And I’m all thumbs,
Fumble with the latches,
Deaf and dumb.
All of this burning, all of this burning, burning burning because of the flames
The air and the wild waving of arms.
All of these curses, red brick walls, road blocked traffic,
All of this is noise
Built out of virus.
All of this spiritualism and legend, mysticism and fable
All of this atheism, fascism, dualism,
All of it platonic, of course
All of it, split
Turned over, leaking out, backwards and hanging
Upside down
Like dead spirits aloft like tissue,
Ripped ripped like Chittagong
Still floating with the shadow-tatters
Underneath the light.
Robotic robotic,
metallic like dust
Static static,
I can’t hear my own voice.
Bone sky dry, we will never see the rain.
Bone sky dry, we will never see the rain,
If we never see the rain
Then the rain never came
And the fire still burns
Bone sky dry,
we will never see the rain, again.
Robotic robotic, metallic like dust
Static static, I can’t hear my own voice.
Numb numb
And I’m all thumbs,
Fumble with the latches,
Deaf and dumb.
Jesse S. Mitchell was born a lucky lump of clay with a full head of hair and was raised by a wild pack of televisions. Now, he writes pretty stories on the backs of old magazines and out of date bus schedules. Site: modern rage
