mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli
mordicai

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the thinness of dreams (you can see the sky right through them)

they are all dead, everybody in the dream, everyone except the god-damn ventriloquist. that stage-show motherfucker in his top hat, drinking water while his puppet mouths the words, but even the dummy is a mummy. the family there, nuclear & screeching in the back row? they were damned when the satanic movie theater burnt down with them inside it, now they haunt these temples of red velvet chairs. the five boys in the leather lurking around my peer? oh, he gave them something to help them crawl up out of the grave. gave them something to let them pick sides. then of course, there is me & this guy. we're practically equals, or well; i'm bigger & badder than he is, but he has those minions, see. but we're actually in the game. pre-dead, never alive. you've got to pour gasoline over our heads to see our halos. we pour gasoline & light ourselves on fire, to see the shadows of colour cast in the blaze. i'm of the black crown, he's the red circlet. it hurts the same as any monk setting themselves alight, but we don't crisp or blacken. we collect the gasoline run off & the urine of the boys & do bong hits. & we're fighting in the elephant's grave yard, in the bronx zoo.
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