Clear blue skies above, but I reap the gathering whirlwind on the shores of a blue ocean, and I quickly learn the name of each grain of sand as together we are whipped up captive in Stockholm by the invisible walls of a tachophrenic eddy; and only the stars above us know the extent of their influence.
I am unconcious and in my dreams I have my tounge between the teeth of a shrouded and skeletal figure as I hear the subtle rasp of a distal phalanx against a crescent blade held half an inch from the nape. I will fuck and then leave a note in the morning. "You looked so peaceful". Until one day I sleep in late.
I am day and night. I am yin and yang, black and white and this is the way I have always been. I don't make choices - I wait for the seasons to bring fruit. And when summer comes, I grow fat while others pickle and cure. And I am sliding into winter, now.
Always looking to the clear blue sky, always focused on infinity. But I am biting into the fruit of life as a crescent blade bites into my neck, and now the sand is biting into my eyes and I want to close them. But I look up. But I can't tell dreams from reality.
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