The Wax Conspiracy

a certain tendency

Jobbed up, teef loaded. A certain tinge of porraceousness; eyes filtered for a girl with Doc Martens and Jean Seberg hair. Dye marshalled against fabric, against all good sense; isms bypassed for aesthetic grandeur. Liminal space invaded; exploration of aberration: another grim fandango. Swollen dreams spat, of debasement, deprivation and hardship. Drop the drop-ship, Sulaco-bound. Strapped in tight, leeches lashed to my broken head. Palimpsest potential, scrape away the asemic: all that big talk, all them dwarves roped & rationalised. It’s the wrong tube now, primed and directed, caught red-headed. Stepchild disguise for the last time now.

I am in telophase.

I am transforming.
I am changing, rearranging.

& I am returning, without warnings: pristine.
cursed towns
Jean Seberg hair

Belvedere Jehosophat

Written on Tuesday, 7 October 2014

The Wax Conspiracy

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