Best Observed Through Spectacles.

It was your typical disco. I say nothing and nothing is new. Film headlines of electric storms of violence, words falling, flash falling from photos. Strangers outside walk on secondhand love. I say "Let me show you all something". And direct their attention to the pinball lead streets of dog screaming terror through their silent eyes. Time for our show. We walk up proud to the heat and we both smoke a panama. Intersect the screen with young faces melted by color and psychedelic dreams. Oh, lovely lovey dovey new york woman dressed in faded blues and transparent dollar bills, green neon.
Music seems to whisper prison murmurs occasionally reminding me of our long road trip to las vegas, or shadows of san jose and obisbo where we fucked on the beach. We met rollins in redondo then heard his critique in los angeles. Maybe two or three half crazy "good nights" like a million acoustic qualities and someone else's naked body. "Do you love me?" she asked at the gas station. "It's swamp mud, LL. In the blood, the little things you used to do... I love colorful circuts and your sheets that hang from skeleton bones." I loved her sucked through pearly jelly, like tapioca. Substitute my books for the thrill of spurting sweet river sex, underwater nervous system pulse. Vacant lot surrounds our darling fashion flesh removed to only show our insides. Do you still wonder? I was the lonely boy with electric fingers, baby with a bottle. She's the throat of demonstrated explosions. We're the vagabond book of dreamers with cool heads, cool hands and naked money. Her charms vibrated through my black tucked in v-neck. She'll change the channel every time i feel blue, which is why i'm confused. This separate organism with sense sprawled all over her station wagon. Of course there were incidents, of course there were casualties declaring himself contemplating silence. Risking independence from the realization of everything i know to be the beating of my heart.
Separate from myself, she's watching me now, tell's Mr. Modern something i can't quite make out and she makes her way towards me. In the beginning she looked at me scanning the feelings. Deriving from, no doubt, his mineral origins. she says something like "Communication must become total and conscious before we can stop it." It reminds me of some prerecorded history rerecorded and played back for Mr. modern, he agrees and leans in for a hug. We exchange reasons why and plans for a road trip to any and all fucked up situations. Glorifying our stupid way of life.
I was transferred to paper again in the back, under my leather jacket as she went to the place to get liquor and junior mints. Attempting to seduce the planets orbiting the entrance like judges on a thankless panel. Success depended on a blockade of the planet that operated on impunity. Badged and bearded like a shit eating fly. She cuts the control lines and makes out with the goods, Food, drinks and polaroid photo of the chase. She has arrest orgasms. My job is total fear and fascination. The transitional gimmick that haunts ghosts and phantoms. This is primitive and certainly dissolved from lunatics controlled by slogans. In addition, this condition was forbidden by victims literally eaten alive by normalcy. I love her unseen caustic green, endearing, emaciated superstitious nativity. So special a fruit with such a taste of an island split by invisible jungles.
We bath in a shallow pool that came to our shins, ghostly tenants stood naked, watching our laughter become dirty. I put on my broken body like an overcoat, purposeful and silent. Her gaze warms my buttonless flesh. Eye beams exploded the insect electricals in the air and they fell in a shower of blue sparks. We tune into the sound, effects vibrating our sex, whine winding along the middle line of the highway.
She draped herself over my back. She was in fact tired after the street show. I take her upstairs, yawn, and crawled under the covers of luminous soft snuggled to her back.