cut up #7

He felt
their death worthwhile,

even
enjoyable

whereas his light and oxygen were dead and forgotten.

Gone.

He wanted to speak to buildings

but they
looked redundant

instead,

he offered to converse with some benign God

who was
staring at him through the rumble of

some
other time,

can’t remember his childhood

only scaffolding could hold him up

on normal
days when

phones melted,

he dripped sweat and feared the conquistadors of death.

He would disintegrate into a dust.

a human
sacrifice in a hot country

his heart
ripped from his chest and shown on a screen.

his throat was constricted

sitting
at a cheap mass produced desk.

He had been invaded by a majestic warm light

but alas,

he was just a bricked up man in a suit,

his body felt like a memory.

And this
scared him.

He sat in
a corner offering the invisible God of indifference

trinkets and baubles.

 

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