The show’s story begins, with an intricate convoluted weaving arc, a painting of foreboding darkness, hiding an enigmatic menace, a spectral foe looming without light. We watch through laced fingers as the spools revolve, revealing yet another chilling strand, to lead us into cloudy esoteric notions.
Though eventually the screenwriter discards their poetic brush, to paint in the reality of plain string, to tie the ends, to reveal that yet again, this demonic wraith, is just the plain card of human souls bickering.
_____
The sun tickled
the Earth’s nightie
with her hot tongue.
We stole a glimpse
a quiver rippled
on the horizon.
Up in the north,
they witnessed
skies orgasm.
_____
Yoga. Sometimes I feel like a scientist, trying to reprogram my body into some vagrant idea I thought would help, rewriting over my motherboard of innate wisdom. What if I have shifted all my automation into my conscious file! What if I have to walk consciously, what if I have to think to breathe forever!? So I stop typing into my soul and read, stop telling my limbs and listen.
_____
Sipping at a gentrified cafe
I call what’s broken a patina
there is decadence for an hour
small people, in expensive cars.
_____
Eye contact.
Paying attention
to someone talking
freaks them out
They are not
used to it.