Joe Elmenhorst

(11-27-1983 / Interzone.)


Cut in line as soft eyes appear like on some movie set back in time, black pain of electric pulls deep and waiting there. a game only of sloth sex acts for morning light. rambles of a red eyed body crash, moving gaining harder into asphalt as heat will change to cold tired bodies up and gone like the last day of summer... These controllers are of youths yet some at losing disposal thin home madness sharp at the light. wasted the Bright flesh paste it back path on the hoping dream of road rash, Young broken minds in confused states. penny dropping, inking public shit holes. Is this control? ashes of animals nothing but heat and foul Oder like the electric set of crimes in progress the Bright intaking air electric boy nudes talking in lights on set losing a hustler extra... Now the time is to begin go on the attack in these places and in front of the faces inside arcades go attack the dream of waiting urning for This blood to stay dark at the side of the road, into black reruns of fear and cold sweats.
Waking up to The Hunger pain and side stitch belly making wet sounds something inside is moving. Turning showing signs of that feeling of screaming ringing off cold steel, a blackout urge to keep standing, keep from the edge and marking by spitting, pissing, shitting only when standing... So empty, in the house of the mole inside the hole of losing body control.

Submitted: Saturday, December 22, 2012
Edited: Saturday, December 22, 2012

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