With a buzz in our ears we play endlessly

The sounds resound ghosting images around and down. . . to the waterline. Yeah, we're just taking our time to count all the numbers one at a time. Listening to the clock tick, lying in bed trying to find a lost box of memories. Calling and crying caterwauls behind me. Cold hands catch me but I can't hear what you are saying. Just sweet surrender and a blood buzz make me rest my eyes until the sky falls from beneath the floorboards. I go slow through windows greyed by the fog. Misty eyes and the money slipped from our jackets and jeans. Hide in the shadows out of sight from the silent night spotlights. Street life lingers in the outside air. Dogs leap onto my shoulders and pretend to be giants or climb up the cargo racks for a flashback stolen from deep inside the well. What underlying image will form from a lazy long view: boys bashed in the newspaper back pages; easy eager eyes; lies floating like ice in arctic circle stages waiting for winds to unwind their cages.
And with a buzz in our ears we play endlessly.

(c) & (p) 2013 subconscious mind publication company