I stopped the thought before its drip became insistent,
I rubbed it out and loved the spot where it were missing
~ Soul Coughing ‘St. Louise is Listening’ 1998
I rubbed it out and loved the spot where it were missing
~ Soul Coughing ‘St. Louise is Listening’ 1998
The trees, even tamed as they once were into park and suburban avenue, have at their core the power to transform.
From a fibre of green that once broke the surface and, liking what it found there, proceeded to advance toward the sun by creating layer upon layer of scar tissue around its heart. Stunted now in these days that lack direct sunlight, their meagre foliage whispering in the wind, gentle messages to those who would hear; they crouch lower and spread their branches wider like begging hands to the uncharitable sky.
The dogs howl in the valley, mark the trees with their scent and sniff the air, undoubtedly aware of the feast that litters the fence; torn between hunger and unease at the Clave’s defensive weaponry as encountered on earlier raids.
Eventually they will venture nearer; one, braver or more desperate, will lunge forward to rip a bite of rotting flesh, the others, more careful or wiser, will watch him wolf it down and within seconds his gut will reject the putrid offering and he will vomit it up with arched spine.
If Daniel were around he would most likely spend a shotgun shell on the reckoning of both the possibility of sending them a permanent message to stay away and the possibility of some morally justified meat, meagre as it is.
No trees on the road to Bigmark and no Daniel in the Clave, no nothing but mud on the road to Bigmark and everybody knows Daniel hates to leave the Clave; or rather he hates having to deal with outsiders.
“I could’ve done this myself; I know how to deal with my boys… besides, the Clave needs you there Daniel”
“The Clave needs that fucking tractor Alec, and we’re gonna get it back”
From a fibre of green that once broke the surface and, liking what it found there, proceeded to advance toward the sun by creating layer upon layer of scar tissue around its heart. Stunted now in these days that lack direct sunlight, their meagre foliage whispering in the wind, gentle messages to those who would hear; they crouch lower and spread their branches wider like begging hands to the uncharitable sky.
The dogs howl in the valley, mark the trees with their scent and sniff the air, undoubtedly aware of the feast that litters the fence; torn between hunger and unease at the Clave’s defensive weaponry as encountered on earlier raids.
Eventually they will venture nearer; one, braver or more desperate, will lunge forward to rip a bite of rotting flesh, the others, more careful or wiser, will watch him wolf it down and within seconds his gut will reject the putrid offering and he will vomit it up with arched spine.
If Daniel were around he would most likely spend a shotgun shell on the reckoning of both the possibility of sending them a permanent message to stay away and the possibility of some morally justified meat, meagre as it is.
No trees on the road to Bigmark and no Daniel in the Clave, no nothing but mud on the road to Bigmark and everybody knows Daniel hates to leave the Clave; or rather he hates having to deal with outsiders.
“I could’ve done this myself; I know how to deal with my boys… besides, the Clave needs you there Daniel”
“The Clave needs that fucking tractor Alec, and we’re gonna get it back”
| Soul Coughing | ||
| St. Louise is Listening | ||
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