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6 December 2018

Pom-Poms & Tom-Toms

by Andrew

Some electric warbling coming from the trees like a war-cry, it shakes loose the snows like a breeze. She's calling to you. And still transfixed you stand, the cosmos flowing through your veins.

You can see it. The birdies have nearly pickt you clean. Your wounds are opened. So it's Aegyption for a bit, a steady stream, a dose of the clap. Till you recover again. A piano teacher starts her metronome, "Okay, class. Begin."

Though never fear, Nevermore. You're never not connected. I give to you freely. Here, take from me. "But this is a $20," he says back in surprise. Right, just leave me alone then.

So he hops an Uber to the job. A group of Indi'ns sits outside banging a drum—1 Jeffrey Dr., Diagon Alley. The servers inside sizzle & pop like brain-candy. It's t' frequencies, mon! And a feather-footed retreat back East down the '80. All communication has ceased, all transportation, the auto-mated machines sit perched, clogging-up the streets—in-sufficient battery.

And now, if they catch you out here, your kind. You must pay to stay inside? Then likewise, you must pay to be outside. Be one with the plastic & concrete which you worship. Burn your Bitcoins in the stove for your heat.

But I'm just watching, just wand'ring, they pay me no mind. They know me so well. "Don't you'd but like but some of this money, club?" Keep it. Like a toll-pass, the one under the bridge. Where's it going? Nevermind, Nevermore.

There's a face back there. I can see in the sky through the smoke & the clouds, the flickering Sun-light. Betrayed, she looks lost, the chaos consuming. He'd took the escape-pod to the Martians with his buddies, she didn't even cross his mind—his own pitiful life so precious to him. But it's her lips, (her hot blood, it must be) there's a link. Somehow still she comminicates directly. I see her spinning round & round in the fires, looking for shelter, the ragged, dirty men huddled over their trash-cans on-looking as she approaches. She's searching for someone, the world you've wandered, the Betrayed for the Betrayed.

A shot in the dark snaps your attention & a shout. "Come on!" it says. "We're moving ahead." A trail through the snow, it's getting so cold. This is the way, only a couple days away.

You stand on the hill & watch the water reflect the flames, you can barely make it out—but still. The wind brings the screams. Say she does make it through the streets, the highways are even less forgiving. She'll have to learn how to survive. And in the wilderness? the dark of night, alone...she'll never find her way & back.

With only the boots & the jacket you can make it. There's nothing much else to do anyway. It all sounds so romantic. Off the cliff you descend.

You forget the days. The snow falls quietly. A crow lifts-off from a branch, a white puff of dust. It was all in ashes.


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