THE BEACH : Swooning sacrifice of man in the ridged outline of shadows, the crazy psychobabble dumbsaints carve their names into buildings about my town. They find Buddy Knife in their shirt tails and drink Coca-Cola from a brown paper bag. They whisper back and forth, “Daylight. I’ll fuck the moon!”
As I walk the valleys and streams, I find myself lost to the myths of urbanization. The canals in Venice eat up my energy and when I jump to my death I only splash in water. You can hear footsteps. Everywhere. A continent of worry, a plane ticket away from the practical universe.
I move again, to the motel room where I was conceived. This is where I lay for a moment, nine months before birth. Two stories below, a prostitute stands at a street corner and tries to get work. A man in a shiny new sports car pulls up beside her and she drops her cigarette, then gets into the passenger seat. This is the part where I imagine what comes next.
Quivering fantasy, I’ve been waiting so long for midnight.