from: obedience


a white noise trembles in the sky - a face in the tides, unblinking and wishing for nothing . . . . . . . . . . . in the next realm of cast iron wishings - a gas station sits under pleides, burns phosphorescent green from here to there; where elephantine cycles cycle though the ages, through the cold and dark, laced with jabber. this is the night’s pale moon, this is hope on a string, a line that dies without passion, a line of star dust, on an oil stain, on an oil stain at a gas station under pleides burning phosphorescent green; reflecting the dark, believing in the moon, believing in Rrose selavy, believing in the walking dead, asleep at the golden dawn, most are triangles in the telephone lines, most get a busy signal, more just hungry, more are blinded by prayer. praying for perfect afterlife, a perfect refrigerator, a perfect more for more - a flicker, more repetitive mannerisms, to shield one from the: stains on the wall and mattress in the streets; where there is no god; no, good god; no, bad god; just stories and holocaust tales, ten million million million myths, enough myths to martyr a martyr. at the next exit, next whistle stop, next in line, which goes something like this, some one is reinventing themselves again, someone is a foundation, invents the micro chip and ruby slippers. someone believes what they believe as solid, they create laws and wear ruby slippers. someone believes sailors should take warning, and others believe in tomorrow . . . . something the day light seeps into the blood stream, as oncoming faces seep into me, most defer, some expand, the tide rises and trembles, I raise and fall. unblinking and wish for nothing; in the next realm; there is hungry ghost fragments, hollow and invisible, elevated redundancy past evidence.