Always beginning with the tapdancing razor.
Stewie looking for surveillance vans, Shauno takes his cut
sharpens his bowie knife. The ear and the wave resonate
needle my skin, bones hypodermic
a blue pen tight across foils of manic demented silver,
seeing red on the margins.
Mercurial rims of a tesla coil.
Shauno starts on about Norwegian thrash
Stewie’s nodding though mechanically
I hear myself from faroff gabbling about desoxyephedrine
the shape of it, how it moves through our limbic system
and Shauno’s thoughts are like yeah man
staring into me staring out into his staring –
he reaches over and turns the death metal up.
We spin, our letters degraded, confuse their meaning
like dopamine transmitters resonating in chemical vacuums.
Stewie’s decided the cops are studying us
our thoughts remagnetised for training purposes
so let’s make it worthwhile for the cunts
grabs the throwing knives from under Shauno’s bed
while Shauno racks up.
Fuck. I’m seeing people.
My hair become a satellite dish in the lenses of my glasses.
Tomorrow explodes onto tonight
a black cloth firework and still I’m thinking of Tesla:
wondering what on this acoustic earth will harmonise
six inches of German stainless steel
sinking three inches into a butternut pumpkin;
and Stewie’s maniac shrieking
as Shauno cracks him over and over with a cricket bat.
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