The Earth and Seed


There's been a murder in my basement room. Shreds and parts of you are tumbling to the floor. Piles making outlines of bodies that laid there once before. Call the station and let them save the towers before I burn this whole city down. I'll give them until at least the morning.

It's the hot air that I seek. It burns the fingerprints left on my skin. Oils from freckles that just seem indisposed. I'm cold from all the two nickel excuses, headaches from hanging crosses and the vomit leftover from Halloween. It's all formed a stench too unbearable for even the janitor who has left his boots for Sunday. I want to scrape the hardwood with my teeth and hang all the torrid memories upside down.

The whispers breathe that it's all a matter of saving yourself, or spending it all freely. At least until it's clear the bank is truly closed. Caution without regard is a conflict never meant for me to see. I'll settle easier with the windows open so that maybe I can tempt the night, and sleep with stars who finally choose to stare back at me.

9:48 a.m. ::
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