From The Soul

I'm blond today, from sun scars making bond-fires on my scalp, I've been eating glass and digging smiles. There's crooked neck wire, circulating through my spine.
the wobbling god of wind, is sneezing like a curmudgeon in the cold. High above the automotive veins of traffic, I'm Pasentol's hostage.
Ignoble divinity, Draped in velvet comatose, I'm either leagues above sea level, or strapped to this puke-tinted love seat. I smell elevator music, and bored pedestrians,  The single fluorescent light bulb is burnt out, so someone has cut the blinds in two.  That weird implosion feeling, like my stomach has been crucified to my appendix, like there's a mass suicide occurring in my bowels, places itself at the forefront of my consciousness, politely i ask them to keep the noise down. First It's a sudden burst of porcelain smashing against ceramic, cold shatters that splinter me, rain drops thin and needle-like, I'm bleeding like a stuck pig above a bridge, or I'm hanging neck-wise from a distended tree branch, and either pasentol has me by the wrist, or I'm just dead and staring through cloudy gray eye's. There's the sound of aborted theater music, and I'm watching shadows dance across sewer veins. Phantom limbs screaming in the light of day, they pass by the broken window, clambering like puppets with cut strings. He's humming Ella Fitzgerald to himself, his limbs are oblong and they fade with the walls, his neck spirals through his body, and his head perches like  a pale dead vulture above it. He's crying like a whore, like a child, like lobsters when you boil them. There are no eye's, only black craters, his head is an alien moon, with a face of angles and pot-marked contusions, it sways to the tune he hums. I'm falling now, the steel cables pass indifferently, quietly they groan as i pass, another leaflet in their day.  the orchestra of mufflers and car horns cushion the blow, and I'm hanging now, noosed apparently...and I have another object of complaint. The miscarriage of urban sprawl is gone, and there's a rainbow of botanical thorns dripping from my skin. Below, I'm wishing to be below. There's a malnourished god-child swinging freely beneath me, enjoying her  youth, smiling like a car grill, black and disheartening. I watch until a pinprick draws blood from my cheek and I'm staring into pasentol's hand. He's carved his face out of mine, and I'm now his mirror. I smell battery acid and cow manure, he drags me through a grove of plaster and asbestos, marking his trail with my flesh and laughter-tears. The brakes are shot and this ride is bumpy..stairs, we're falling down stairs, he's taking me with him, through the ghetto of a rabbit hole. She starts humming this tune to herself, I think it's Ella Fitzgerald. I yell because I'm curious, but she doesn't hear me i think. She swings, higher and higher, until she's almost parallel to the ground, until she's facing my down turned pulp of a face. He drags me through the ass end of an alley, I'm all shards and paint chips, he stops near a dumpster and drops me from a drag to a festering lump. Pasentol...how he wept like a whore...his pencil slit mouth cracks in two and his frown is a right angle. Hurling himself into the dumpster he swings the top closed and shuts himself inside, humming
his tune throughout. Adorning space and time no longer, I leveled this cute, death red Subaru...some yuppie hipster prick cried for his insurance agent on impact, my teeth were lodged in my nasal cavity but i think he could tell i was smiling.