crackling warmth in winter frigid air crackling comatose leather beaten scabby hands cold,
flop-eyed huff-breathed, wander, wander, wonder, abandon, abandon, float in the place where we lay skeleton handed, the wind eats our skin, it is mighty hungry.
scabbnecked eyeglancing hatchlings.
scattered tattered apes whither round my landscape windows-eye-view,
excitable by no-thing ‘xcept the joy of just doing it, alright. these shocks spark emiting it,
the withering whether begotten placement of encased place, pacing, shaking hands at the wind which has eaten our skin, 'tis mighty hungry, we lay hand in skeleton handed, tracing pulse with an x-acto knife over orange the orange blossom skin of realization.
the sirens clang outside my windows-eye-view, hellcat roaring, figure five clanking violent then disappearing street noise dust rattled ambling over wind skin, yea-ooohh, ahheheaha.
'tall sounds the same till it becomes a symphony in the details. the way you'd imagine crickets used to o'ertake the countryside, that din, that constant din, of hungry sound, of hungry soundsoundsound, as much so as the wind, that din making sound of feet pattering a plastic bag blowing in the wind, chattering streets, with schizophrenic eyelashes and neon flashing tongues, happy skullfaced headlights and grilles, grinning, drums beating to the whirr of a ceiling fan.