The wind is picking up, thunder, the ocean sound of it relentless and sweeping. It fills me with sparks, heavy ones, arcing from my core. It’s the crazy weight of angels lifting me from the ground to cackle, fey and dangerous to any around. I want blood now. I want sorcery and magic and flame to burst from the sky to destroy illusions and pathology, dissolved by the wind like a child belief in parental infallibility. The power of it has sunk into my heart with thick fangs, teeth, taking and now. Thrillride soulseeker, coming down the mountain to steal your mind. Thoughts, playing, drowning, now beg. Time ticking by, a piano note a second, the impossible, impassable dreaming. Deadly craving force, it blasts open shutters and tears down doors – I love it. I want to taste it, the entirety of it’s full invisible body. I want to pull it into me, I want it to light my eyes with a vivid fire. Tear me down to another place, another time, like standing at the sea and screaming. The storm is here, it’s coming, shuddering, licking my tongue into a quivering need for shouting. I want to catch onto shadow and consume the substance, the intangible roar slipping down my throat to kiss me on the underside of my skin as thick as a cluster of grapes.
When you see over the sound, when abstraction takes on flesh, it’s time for a new absolution. The beat, the body, the building meat. It’s living, breathing without you, food stamp living in a tiny apartment looking out over a river. It’s out there, it’s somewhere, a needle in a jar of electricity. This wind could show me if it could speak. It would laugh out loud then give me directions to someone who would give me the most tender caricature of fucking. Ungodly heat in a frail human shell, I can’t take this weather. I want it, it’s visceral, if a lover were here they’d be stripped to the bone. Warm wet air, it’s sliding around me when I stand outside, it’s water I can breathe. Hesitate or want it and you’re a whore, I get it. A big free fall into a place I never went. Briar patch destiny, standing out in velvet, just bring it on. I want to try at least once, this weather seed, this terrible tree wrenching heave. Gray doesn’t apply finally, this is the on off switch, a bloody hate machine of tangled veins and chemical needs. Dualism and I don’t know how to talk to the looking glass without you.
