Farewell Tumi

Hypnotic waters run free within my essence picking up speed and the hair of the witch along the way to the dark, cold mouth kissing an ever-anxious death on the teeth. Rampant within my veins they rush, crashing against my jagged anger and making nothing of it. Swept along by the ankles, I drown in their racing currents as my body ultimately surrenders to a dismal and moribund highway.

And then come the chilling sensations of the last moments of life.

Awake!

Now awake your haunting lives for a glimpse of the past.

Pour the sweet wine in my chalice so I’ll never be late when you call. I love you love me but misery has other plans for the energies of we.

A young queen of the Nile contemplates suicide while the others sing to her life and bargained gods anew.

My love has departed to her thousand lifetimes; exhausted and missing my keep, I follow in suit.

Look to the heavens through a pleading blindfold and petition forgiveness from the Righteous One. A last prayer precedes the targeted gunshots ~ fusillade breaking the air and finding sweet amen. My head slumps, the urine trickles, and the accordions play their heavy notes for my names under a sunlight no longer mine.

The squad is done. My execution has concluded, seems like days unfamiliar though.

A sharp silence fills both the air and disrespecting faces in the crowd nodding with satisfaction. Going on and on.

Fugitives on the run dying to escape the I.

Escape is futile.

The dogs are on the loose ~ The gods will devour us.

Pierced orchids falling easily with a windy rain come under hasty foot. Look at the welts screaming out on my sides and back to no one listening as they pay my sleazy way one last time.

She hides with the screen door shadows turning face away with newspapers hanging ghost stories over head ~ a whore smoking Saratogas barely dressed in black & ribbons getting wet with her breath chilled and suspended anticipating a lift.

The strangler awakes in his mirror’s reflection with a fierce hunger for blood and he throws himself a kiss packing sweet mercy into his coat’s sleeve walking out for a thrilling night and a toss of the luck.

A whore this night is left for dead in her hallway with a knife penning religious tales on her pale back. Killer unknown like the lone dollars you exchanged for a bit ‘a mattress fun some days ago.

The cracked mirror reflects my satisfied face greasing up the glass. Lunatic child prefers the touch of narcotic harlots to that of the virgin bride.

Behold your past lives; they bid you a distant adieu.

Take your final sleep reminiscing all that was til the last thought is once more forgotten behind the bone. The beauty of the last wink letting go of everything it used to know in faith, welcoming change and holding surprises.

The hand of death/birth.

Eternal rest.

Nov. ‘92
Victor Millan