Red
rubber track

incarnadine,
like blood splashed
onto a rubber road.
white lines crawling,
hissing in tortuous returns;
a yawn, the jaw jerking backwards-
back. in a wide rictus that froze
in that retarded
momentum. wailing,
piercing into the air;
the mother cries
sees her child
blinded by gaulets
of rubies,
pushing through her cunt
unto that spiraling track.
to lick that blood-ied carpet,
demanding milk and hearts
that beat. pump that red essence,
into the winding tract.
the child all braced to straggle
through the circles that brave
the wild frenzied wilderness red,
to engage in the humdrum of photos,
only to rust in time
and umber- like tea,
like memories faded
turned sour by the
dripping clamouring air.
see that horizon burnt behind
this red rubber track
bloodied by the people
who were stabbed and
their warcries silenced
by the tedium that follows.
twsited out of shape
the bloody road
will swallow her-
the child as she runs
around the four-hun-d-red metres
as the white lines will cross
into the corpse that lay behind;
like vines that push their way into,
the back of the cadaver
and exit through the other;
she will bleed
onto the red rubber track
with her pleas masked by white lies
never to emerge.



cuRRent...jer
ETC is in reruns for the remaining of July.









  ¶ 11:18 pm