I tread tenderly in the night – tracing God’s footprints. I sleep in a knot tied in the light fantastic; stewing in the sweat that mires my sheets. There is a fearful linearity to my dreams – a dreadful symmetry that infers another hand – an external agency – directs proceedings. My dreams are pay for view. Shit, if I hadn’t been there I wouldn’t be here – I gambled, I lost and I paid up (tearfully).
I needed a little poison to help trace the contours of my mortality – It’s a scary kind of hit, but it kick-starts the night with a hefty thump. Check it over, divvy it up and tick it out – where there’s muck there’s brass – it’s a family friendly service. Those pretty flamingos stray onto the marabou menu through faulty design. The quick and the dead are separated by mere seconds. There is a trick to survival – a habit formed of diligence.