PHASES OF A DARK MOON

Well, what about tonight? Moon-ed, maroon-ed and pseudo-stoned.

A warm evening in Bjork's ‘Cocoon’, an oriental madness in the beats and a slithering voice licking with a rattlesnake's precautious pleasure. Not the urgency though, much more of a slow unwrapping, followed ungraciously by Bono. No comments.

I am being watched, again. Rattlesnake urgency there, unable to drown and dissolve in all of this, all of this can be yours; all of this can be yours… like before. You are growing fat on expectations, aren't you? I know what you want, something pretty. Pretty sad. Pretty lonely. Pretty lost. You can hear happiness standing on down street; footprints dressed in red as the wind whispers Mary… An old black pair of high heels and a tearing GO GOA! T-shirt hiding little bits of brown flesh swaying to and fro in rhythm searching dance as you watch. I know you want it badly, now. Just like all those times before with before people and all those before stories. No surprises underneath, you have been there, done it all, the indecision, the reluctance; a knowing smile with the soft thuds on the expectant floor and the scratching on the watching walls. Followed by the screaming and supplication.

You Draculian playboy, you.

Funny how fornication speaks for infinite thoughts of a virgin with an untamed word tambourine.

Though you might hear laughing spinning swinging madly across the sand, its not aimed at anyone, its just escaping on the run and before the sky there are no fences facing.

Always makes me smile. Always, always. Always.