Fast Friend, Alexei

Can we take a sec to address the elephant on my chest? I torture his floor for hours and mores until I feel his steps. This feels right, like something you’d say if you’d got more rest. Winds are dying now, so I set fire sails to fair souls in my breast.

It takes so long to say so little to say so much, before the tender’ve grown ears to hear my desert shout. Good luck with the rosebuds. You know what I’m talking about. Smoking too much now. I’m Preachy Bastard. Nice to know ya, I’ll let myself out.

The angelsongs’re needlin’ new languages, like fluid turbulence. Words are no longer enough. It’s alien science. Caneless. Painless. Hang on, still scrolling backwards through my old texts to myself when you and I met, messages from the Light. Off to natives with ink. Back again. Unexploding. Fearless. All atheists go to heaven. Escaping illusion we’re not all collected. Quit flinching. You asked for this. I’m no’ rushin’ ya, ya holy, man, I’m fookin Irish.

I’m an orthodox when I need to be. Stomping quiet with elephant feet. Squint your eyes, like the steeples are pixels, whole peoples sick still. It’s a diagonal train, wracked. I see it now. I’m not here to spread the fear. I’m here to hear angels and to quiet storms. But bet your ass I’d brave gulags to be her 12-gauge househusband, however sick, just ’til she ‘membered how to point herself, remember to breath… it’s gonna be okay, just pull and *click*.

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