Hot and Ready To Go

On the cusp of August, in a green beam of light, the moon is oscillating smoothly across the city forgotten by the bay. This day, this very sad dwelling besides the bay, a girl inadvertently transmutes her genetic codon. It started with warm glass folding underneath the pressure of screw, and nail, and steel wool. Her heart skips beats in three's, blistering a hallucinatory 666 on her ring finger. She gets it when she feels it. A cursory julienne slice to the thumb, flesh scraping tendon she is becoming more of a vegetable lately, raw, and vulnerable, rather than accountable. It was her 18th birthday, with blood, dry stained in big patches on either thigh. Let this pass over, for an angel in glitter dust gifts me a string to tie up my organs for I shall live a day more. Then my sweet boy hurls red-sour and gasoline into a trash bag. On Lombard street, the city lights suffocate under a lightening storm in late July. Our tummies turn and churn a bright green that attracts a bit of flies here, a bit of goo there. He's got a wife, but she isn't the one he likes, and then I realize, jeez, he's been ceaselessly sweating since June My dumb old hands have gone blue and fumbling, I stand furtive and fuming on a fug... And the city lights.