The War on Pterodactyls

And the nuclear face holds no inspiration for me, my brain starts to work faster than it ever has before, I feel the atoms chasing after one another through the highways of my hollow veins, the red multilane, the endless exchange.
Fuck this empty atmosphere, these streets with no names and no-one recognises you from the tides of the crowd. Words are coming every few seconds, in bursts like automatic gunfire.
Jet engine bellows as it bears down over our dead suburb. Monday night crawl to the Chinese place crawl home with some rice. Some freak on ice, they say another died in his sleep, brains leaking out his ears. Nothing big today.
Fuck this ordinary day, the hourless scramble and the liquid truth, the city choking, picking human bones from her concrete teeth, gnashing with steel jaws and devouring screaming statistics and exhaling hate and vile smog.
Every day I’m chased by lunatics, armies and secret police in deadly black suits, all of them unsure about the procedure but they know about the cure. They know a solution, they’ll bomb me until burning oil paints my face, they’ll beat down my insurgencies, cluster-mine collaterally damage my children, they’ll take me kicking and crying, they’ll tear down my home, shoot my neighbours in the street, always one after another… They’ll liberate me like a motherfucker. So you see why I want to get away?
Fuck this faithless trend, this national-social-syndrome, and all the television sets that bled without weeping and the lidless eyes that switched stations, tuned out of their own minds and collapsed on the sofa in white-faced fits.
Fuck this bloody sun fuck this acid rain fuck this alien view fuck you and your racist newspaper nation. This obliterate immediacy, this obstinate deficiency, this untold theocratic spiel, regimental despair. Pilfered rifles firing on metal-plated tanks, and they vaporised your physical presence to preserve the peace and bleed the people so the streets could be fed right. Cities eat people every night.
Eyes on the innocent horizon, I begin to lose my focus around you and without I move blind. The setting pastoral sun caught on blowing chaff and without a sound in the world but for blues and clicking wheels. Machines dead and rusted under stands of hazy wattle, wire twisted in mud until I could convince you to trust me and move. The water-marks on the long-dry creek and ashes dissolved into grass.
Fuck this rich city, fuck this beautiful city, fuck these dead people who live as the meat, cells in the mechanical heartbeat movement, a million individuals sucked anaemic, magnets drawing rusting insides-out, currency and plastic covering stone visions, Stainless Steel Age scrapers chewing the lip of the sky.
Fuck you and your friends, fuck your deafening clubs, fuck the bright lights and all the wonderful times of your life. I’ve hated until my insides were sore, I’ve spoken bile and words until I fell over spitting foam trailing red across the floor. And in treason, in regret I wept for everything that went wrong, and now I am spent. I miss you.
Until the windows crack and break until the eyes fall out of the spires until the towers crumble and the roads overgrow, until the roots tear white through your skin and lovingly carry you towards the light, until the world cries us from her eyes until the end of all we know about time.
Until the end, I am yours.

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