¬ frequencies #1

i feel weightless, as if in a glass tank filled with salt water, head down for hours at the end of the night.
cctv cctv' s me when i leave the house.
new Xs on the road, twilight figures on a flatscreen fucking their brains out, surreal mixture of champagne and milk, inflexion of an ant between the blades, distant survivors.

between submerged trees erosion patterns run down the slope interrupted by patches of ice and i wonder whether the snow would ever melt if i simply fell asleep here,
on a ridge high above the town where the land melts into the water, the last frame of a film, any film.
a blue wind breaks through the clothes with countless stings .

nicotine lines my stomach walls, and a plastic bag tumbles aimlessly over the road.
grey fungus grows in a window frame and a crack runs over the wall.
with eyes wide open i pick up signals from a disintegrating planet, incoming drum and bass at molecule-rattling decibels mutates like a body dragged over grit and gravel.

faces seem to be made of insect's eyes, there is never anything beyond the snow.