Cold-switch trundle, uphill and gaining,
the morning ahead after hours.
Fluttering in ash, a scent
and the wrong memories of moisture on windows come cutting.
All these little miracles in hindsight,
all that burnt through,
all the sweeter for over.



Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Duck and covered the one-fell-swoop, seasonal stashed as elements blanket.
Awash, sirens flirting in the backdrop, buck and sway,
shake and quake, knuckles white around the world.

Blizzard in the blood again, beating in the blood again.
Tempo and crescendo go it's beating in the blood again.
None to know, none to go and beating beat beat beat again.

This door was locked before.
No clue what for but it's not anymore.
Tuck and roll, the one-fell-swoop,
klaxon intercourse steaming powder sky,
knuckles blanket beat again.


Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Ambient in holiday-frost, staircase velocity, gold-trim and
holding our noses all the way down.

(Marrow maple syrup thick isn't thick enough for thin, reminds you, riding down in bone and straps buckled in on each other, high-gloss and cozy, posed like surgical tools off the tray magnifique, incisor manifold while doll-forms croon in mahogany and veal carved in paths around the chamber as the sun is parodied below us, pursing lips cracking finish in the tide.)

Where they figured the theater for a womb and let the mechanism seep
in the all-alright, you hardly miss the concessions.


Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Kick burnt shells out into the road and watch the sparks and the shadows in the dust depart in pairs.
Always in pairs and close enough to be one,
one four legged thing, elephantine, lurching into the fade
until they split at the edge of the dust
and leave each other with everything else.

This far out you wonder how people live even before you're sure they do.
Walls quivering, peeling off the horizon, slick.
Easier if it's just the feeling you're being watched.

Whatever happened here must've been bad.
So bad it keeps happening.
But the company's appreciated and the shadows are dimming
and drawing apart so early now
you can almost miss them.


Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Rafters bleat in high-beam vibrato, curry for the grift.
Latches and locks all liquid in trance.
Coming in through the seventh side, loud and leering.

Teeth chatter in major key, jubilant gnash, calling down rhythm sect on the one-two-too.

Used to be a camera up there, strung up in cable and snug in chicken-wire furnishing, rust and lace.
Dolled up in service station drag on acetone finish, blushing through ceramic, iris wailing in the alcove, kept in mandible step but gone now, all gone now.
Gaze is gone and gotten and though you insisted it was only a guess it sounded so sure.

So sincere.

When the tempo slips and kills the valence.


Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Voodoo gunnery stationed at the patio, true to go.
We'll be ready this time.
Kick back and steady for the klaxon-affect, reading obscenities off white noise waveform so we have something to talk about later.

Through the fence, moire reels. Tastes so strong you hear them.
Average and ordinary w/ wood grain stain,
it's an awful name but I do know how to use it.
No size fits nothing and bacteria for bravery.
(Says so on the receipt.)

This is the midnight scour, the name you pour on the wound so you don't have to explain, so you'll never have to explain.
This block is wire-salad in three easy servings. How it feels, how it looks. Tenement coalition living off the land and stripped copper.
Hometown is pawn shop aesthetics on dried oil slick and medical surplus.
Prosthetics and stucco.
This time we'll be ready.
Mouths to feed for silence and the thought you're still above it all, pressed in halves and torn.
Meanwhile breeds the nuance.


Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Whispers, stainless steel and laser-guided,
triple-blessed and sanctified,
(the other one the secret one,
the one they wish they could tell you about
when it kneels beside their bedside
and hides when they look)
always through the proper channels.

She's sulphur-catholic on knee-high impale,
wire-cut in the late-late style.
Fashionably lacerate,
mainlining utility, wet-dock soaking engine skin.
We're learning new names for numbers over drinks and invitations injected,
(hormonophaged in the doom light, like you do)
expectations in cool knee-deep and sulk.

(ricochet morse code for may we have the check please)

All-out, six shades gradually through the iris,
through abyss,
through the teeth,
all the way through
(and will we never find the god-damn)
with turbines set to devour.


Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Slid through the veil like knives and fed the usher my ticket, cueing the show with radial gear-lock choir chucks, click-back symphony, rusting soulfully.

Signal heavy broadcast wave pulse up tectonics, sprouting tunnels to the surface, hollow sprouts out the resonance. Keeps it open underneath and pleasant enough so long as you can stomach the currents.

Aisle in the way back, chairs fixed upright, velvet-choked, something cold and ankle-deep below so we kick back with our feet on the seats.

Auditorium lights digest mood off the audience, whipping emotional sediment right out the gut, a feeling like being stirred and changing flavor only holier.

The screen comes down and the gaze comes after, reaching, holding.

Somebody says "they're on to you" and leaves the building.

Cueing the chorus, pneumatic laughter and turbines praying through tears.

They used to let you bring your own food but now we have to sneak it in.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Followed *** out of the valley, light wreaking all sorts of nonsense on the oculars. I preferred the shade, the cool winds weeping between damp, vine-choked walls, but lingering any longer would be dangerous, as the valley tends to shut on the cozy and contented and how long since we've been either?
My eyes refuse to adjust to the light. It digs in, warm, gouging. Each step drives it deeper, piercing, and I'm left with the sensation I've been impaled on a beam of light and am merely hanging from it, drifting forward like a gondola, like a poltergeist.
Brighter still, I melt like wax and drip free, only spilling for an instant before I'm consumed by the light, dissolved, dispersed, and digested.
I feel I'm moving but I don't know it and still I'm moving but I can't know it.
I'd panic if I held any stock in permanence.
So far though?
No complaints.
Super-combusting in my own sweet time.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Don't know what it is chemically that keeps dragging us through here
but here we are again regardless.
All these empty houses peering through the brush, empty eyes wide, inquisitive.
All these empty houses, you'd figure people lived here once.
Figure somebody at least.
You'd figure wrong though. (don't know what it is chemically keeps)
Nobody ever comes here 'sides us and we could never live here.
Don't know what it is chemically that keeps dragging us.
Comes up from inside, radiating out and taking pieces off you with it,
broadcasting pieces of you, pollinating you.
Yes of course we've thought about going inside.
We think of everything. It's a debilitating habit.
But you've got to understand.
Not a one of these houses was built.
All these empty houses grow wild.
Regardless, chemically.
Don't know what it is that keeps dragging us through here.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Keep missing echos. Miss 'em bad sometimes.
Two wrong turns took us back down into the valley so we stopped for a smoke in the cemetery by the abyssion sills. Every time we go we look to see if anybody's left anything new on the graves. Wilted flowers, bleached photographs, plastic saviors of every shape and color melted in the sun, all the same in different ways.
***** found a mirror and killed it. Typical. Says won't stop until they pay but frankly the mirrors have been more than fair. Don't see them trying to break ***** but we don't agree on this. ***** on this hemophile fad, trailing the cool kids so no sense in rationalizing a clot. No sense at all, laid back against a hunched stone angel shifting in soft mud under my weight, sticking, watching ***** twirl through the tall grass trailing blood like Pollack in or on ecstasy, like sprinklers on timers in backyards in abandoned cities. Paints the tombstones polka-dot, tires out and collapses on the ossuary door, unhinged and tangled in moss.
Unhinged, tangled in moss. Says it so it is.
Every time we come down here more tombs are broken.
I don't know what's getting in.
I don't know what's getting out.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Things drop through on occasion. You catch the sparks in your peripheral in time to watch the sky rip.
Like waves crashing in reverse.
Something over the hills has a glow, you never notice until it reflects off the froth spilled from atmospheric entry.
Wonder what that's all about.
***** says she met a guy, says he came right out the sky. Broke his fall in the Ivory Tars where he'd be to this day if it weren't for an edlergunt with eyes bigger than its mouth. ***** says he left his skin in the clouds and he pointed it out to her and she thought she saw it but wasn't sure.
Frankly, I'm not sure about *****.
If some skin's in the clouds it's only
because she put it there.
And we will
never ever
get it out.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

We brought the temple down, for a lark. Firing blessings up the pylon, manifest density.
Intent like a cold blade through desire and delusion, lapping up the serration.
On down our knees, resume, recite, repeats
and defeats the purpose
and we all stand up, triumphant.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

Since they found the Engines Under and switched 'em on permanent there just hasn't been much need for the wires. It all goes out on the waves now that our glands got the tuning down sharp.
So the wires all went cold and dead and still
and over time we almost didn't see them
draped between stripped trees and mausoleums.
The vestigial tissue of our outer neural network, webbed with moss,
once humming with energy and now?
Rubber rot, cringing in the wind and carrying
something else now, strange and cold.
Corinthian syllables bound tight and gasping.
I used to know someone who could get the old Receivers working, the ones locked in cases high up the Posts. She'd break the locks with her fist wrapped in rags, blowing orange puffs of rust carried on wind and sprinkling down on our heads, and she'd poke her head in and from down here she looked as if her head had been nailed into the Post, body hanging by blue harness straps and safety-chains.
She'd said if we could hear what she heard up there, we'd have torn the wires down years ago.
Last time we saw her go up, she almost spit,
"too late now"
and she never came back down.
Gathering moss and orange dust and shining detritus, just another locked case nailed up the Post.
Just another old Receiver hearing something we'd stop if we could only bear it.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

It's got its hooks in again,
cords taut scuffing the window frame.
Whatever it wants it can have,
if it can get it out of me.
Over and repeat the trailing after-images of my body torn through the window
over and repeat the trailing after-images of my body torn through the window
over and repeat the trailing after-images of my body torn through the window like an echo in reverse.
All yours, over and repeat,
if you can get it out of me.
Pull I'll push.
(scraping the rust from the roots and saving it)

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas