Sambuka

 

You can’t catch me, Creature!

I run and I waft. Injection is the fastest way. Shimmying through upper levels of the troposphere. Hiding behind the blots. I shake your hand as you sleep. Your hair is plastered and you smell like skin and humans. But you’re not!

You can’t shut me down. My silent spaces. My life. Bread under a microscope. How are you today? I secretly take a giant whiz across the city.

You can’t shut me down. I revolve and see the future. It’s unpronounceable. It has no mouths only membranes and flippers. The fish feel so good. The atmosphere is gliding and turning over.

You can’t catch me. I’m ripped open pooped out gone over the mountain past mention beyond remembrance and exceeding body count. I’m in heaven. Sipping sambuka.

See, gradual decomposition and liberty of mind go hand in hand. They fuck in bed. Lucidity is all around if you can only relax. But so many nerve centers, shopping centers. Poisonous arrows that never fall out.

You can’t catch me, Creature, and I’ll never stop. I’ll never give up. I’ll walk right by you.

Creature, you think you’ve got me all sorted out. Yet I float down your river like a corpse grinning, with one hand on my hip. I evade your trap with a wonderful nonchalance that you find infuriating.

Come on in, Creature, the water’s fine. I dare you!