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What exactly is failure? Darkness and brooding shadows enclosed in the sweet smell of breath laced in alcohol. The tongue is heavy with thick threads like a sweater.
Ropes and pulleys pierce through waiting for the certain pop of navigating over skin covered with pores sprouting hairs. Like a pig newly slaughtered.
I bite my lip drawing blood reveling in the metal favor that comes from my body. Fossils come from the process of decay. Bones preserved showing a smooth creamy surface. I place my face next to them the coolness calming me. My brain is on fire with hallucinations and flashbacks to other levels of dimensions that I've lived in. The wind flows over my face as we head over the dirt road. The night is pitch with very few stars. Just a hint of half a moon in site. Silver haze everywhere. I let my arm flail over the side of the car. Tears roll down my face sad and happy at the same time. I watch my reflection in the passenger mirror. "Objects appear to be larger than they are." that's how the saying goes...
Broken bodies catch in the light as I shut my eyes. I closed my lips around his face swallowing him whole. Cinnamon....specks of brown and nutmeg fall from the corner of my mouth.
Strings six and twelve follow me as I chase after the musician. I catch a glimpse only to lose him in the woods behind a stone house near bluegrass. My smile puts fear in the teddy bear as I stride past it to the door. It covers its' head bending its' ears over. Masculine wailing draws me near to the open bridge . Water slowly drips from the storm that has passed. Metal and water gleaming slowly, patiently like a slow caress running along my thigh. I flashback to another time; one of Youth and Beauty, the two important literary ideals. In the distance I see lights flickering. The Con Ed plant was gearing up to full capacity. I grab the guitar the musician left behind and lick my mouth to capture the taste of his ideas since he had left me. I walk over to the Con Ed plant to watch the water fall and see the maze of piping and metal that was between me and the bridge. I hear the the faint notes of a string instrument. It is not guitar but violin. The masculine wailing grows stronger as I walk the length of the bridge to get closer to the Con Ed Plant. I want to lick the metal to feel the cool rainwater and reassure my existence. I pick up the speed of my feet and the wailing stops. I can't see the end of the bridge but the Con Ed plant is looming ahead of me. Gas surfaces from pipes and a consistant humming emmantes from the plant. The bridge ends a block from the plant. I quicken my pace again. Each footstep is hypnotic to me as I count the beats of the echo. I climb up onto the mokney bar pipes to a higher level in the maze. As I look up I see the source of the wailing.
Twelve strings and six are in the hands of a man. Curved and unpolished.
This issue is dedicated to: FM-2030
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