the future is in the pool,

staring at the skyscape from the chairs, reddening the rotting, burning heads with the skin

orbiting the hair

aliens, boned and milky headed are lounging between cigarette sticks like wind,

weaving its way through the smoke

speaking in the tongues, gibberish most foul rolling on the tar

they are burning

scents of flesh between the porches, mushing through the blankets

the walkers in the room

vibrant summer whispering in the earphone orbs, tips of pinkish planets taking to the sky

the room hears nothing but the clicking, the violence in the air’s tremble,

the sleeper is tracing the keyboard ash and gripping the hard cock

leaning into the screen, caressing with the eyes and deepening with the electronic screams

pulsing the vein at the manicured tit, washing his shame in crusted bath towels,

making love to his foldable robots.

[artwork sierra barela, 2014]


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