SandScript 2021

Is your mother bitter?
Have you ended up like father?
Have the roses swallowed you up, when you look too close? Have the creeps and the
shudders torn your pages in two? Has your internal voice coughed up something black?
In other words,
the cloth swaddling the world
becomes undone.
And regarding history and fleshmy
thought bubble
now in a plume of gun smoke, as somewhere in the distance, below
shouts
A woman in the street to her sister, in the desert air
something is playing in the background, while I sit on the balcony watching the mountains.
Suddenly, the voice
whispers of unease in the world opium den,
while everyone in the room begins to jeer
mid-laughter the clock strikes 12
the room can hear everything
and the revisit is cut short, by some suited, cruel-looking men.
The pulsing yesterdayand
yesterday’s decor, yellowed from fire in the sky
sitting outside while metropolitan muzak joins the sobbing trafficmy
true love’s voice disappears down the roadbecomes
the horizon
and its vacuum eyes.
and its vacuum eyes.
108