une fleur du mal

dear diary,
bleak blue silence crystals love without a beginning, without an end.

1. our days remain the same, identical sets of limbs, regardless of
how we twist or twirl them.
2. time is a ship and a fixed destination, you and i are nothing but pleasant interruptions,
psychic drivers on the open freeway, we are cheap tricks, we are popcorn and a drive in movie,
we are tiny specks of light on the giant silver screen.
3. and then there is the ether,
distilled beauty, pure white noise.

he wore taped up glued together black leather boots, hair in long greasy tassels
he put a spike in his vein, pumped himself full with heroin, rationalised any
irrational action by saying; the drugs cannot take a hold of me,
i have got nothing left to lose, what you see is not a fear of flight but flying itself
i am a painter of modern life, through daze, through storm, through thunder, lightning,
shooting past furiously charged clouds, riding my horse of liquid density
the ether: distilled beauty, white noise,
embracing the duality of human nature.

what gives a crystal its weight is its lead base, a frozen core of poison.
concrete floors, paper walls, hooker heals as the beat of a drum machine
the sound of someone practising the piano, children screaming
even in a place where no one is seen but heard,
we will find the ether.

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