Black Claws Splatter
Windows of an exiguous pupil pique hands to build temples out of smoke, gouging out trunks to pack the past away at the end of a bayonet. The conveyor belts run like bees in a jar, selling flashes of hope of a future with legs to stand on. And the Cicatrice’s that flows with the wine through this prism known for its teeth.
Frothing; Kicking and scratching at the blind mans feet, send the ravens forth till the crops are all barren and limbless sacrifices upon the alter of the moon. Tumultuous corpulence risen to glide above all others, shitting faces on the backs of the weary. Woes sing like prayers as they burst into empty galaxies surrounded by black holes and cheer.
Whispers of teeth that know like knaw like the nails, a shovel to best the most cunning of flowers. Chattering tears run down the tendons of terrible thoughts that gently rock you to sleep.
Black splatters rupture branch’s under the archway, lights drip as I stumble backwards. I thought it was a dream but the evidence lay scattered. A throat filled with razors, guts of needles. A glint that watch’s the eye, where did i put my phone, I guess ill make one instead.
Rubble on my focus, debris of the gaze of this fucking disingenuous maze. Before what that silhouette to the point, cracked hands and blood spilling noise out of a vase. Trumpets raised clowns to grace seared and hardened flecks sink deep retreating until the rocks are all gone all the corners out of sight.
Michael Swain may be reached at mswain1984@gmail.com.
