existing on concrete

Mark Heustice

then I was standing, swaying, existing on concrete, just like all the 
other dark, huddled, cosy figures were, watching, waiting, hoping, 
picturing the same thing, a big warm, violence to come along and take 
us away from all this smelly, colourful. biodegradeable nothing that
haunted our lifeless lives that kept on, kept on, horifically, relentlessly, 
continuing, like a war, or a terminal illness, inescapable, like gender, a 
rude succession of blinks, tea, and urination, soldiered together, by a 
cowboy mechanic, sold to us by false tongues connected to broken brains 
filled with fluttering wrongness that was billowing out and the noise of the
afformentioned violence had finally arrived as wished for and breathed on the 
cosy figures, messing their hair up like a favorite uncle, hitching up their 
skirts like a drunken lech, scaring them, like a ghost, enticing them in, 
into its too bright inards that remained bright even when under the earth, 
under the concrete, under the rubble and under the water and under the holes
and under the foundations and the outside suddenly went the other way, slipping, 
like wet paint, sliding, water, falling magazine pages, going away from the 
figures that were thanking their deities and plastic pieces of worship and 
words that they were not out there, as they, too, surely, would have melted 
away just like the outside was melting now, before their jelly globes,their 
coloured spheres, connected to broken brains, filled with fluttering wrongness 
that they knew must be righted by the time they fell asleep in order to the dark 
to return to its cocoon and metamorphosise into a bright beautiful yellowandblue 
then return to the usual erotic dream as the decrepid metal floated and divided 
and multiplied beneath them, the mass, that, in unison, swayed and jolted and 
the left side got scared as a giant suddenly bellowed and roared outside, its 
many yellow eyes staring deep into the hearts of us as the metal beneath them 
screamed like a thing possessed, like a wild animal caught in a man trap needing 
to be put down, put out of its misery, looking out I saw another blacker mass,
moving in unison, our clones, darker, duplicated, photocopied, a poorer quality, 
dub, dead, looking at us as the world outside solified, able to be recognised	

9/11/97 & 26/5/98		

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