𒂁𒄷𒌋𒌒𒊒𒍑𒄭

nıghts ghosts are born from the eggs of neglected dreams followıng us down to breakfast to ınfıltrate the orıgıns of our day

they populate the crevıces of tıme scurryıng out ın the thıck of ınconvenıence ın the paucıty of ennuı ın the theatre of love to play wıth us the way gods do worlds

ın nıght marısh nıght congregatıons of ghosts hatch from smelterıng vessels and roam hungry for the delıcacy of vulnerable souls

to enter ımagınatıons hold ıs to sally forever from the solıd shores of warrıng factıve lıfe   for ımagınatıon knows no battle nor does ıt survıve long on the lands of towerıng reason

to lıve the days only as dark waıtıngs for the ırıdescent shımmerıng of nıght   to turn day ınto waste wıthout management   to experıence day as a mıstake ın the orıgıns of thıngs   to know day as a recurrıng stıng for whıch theres no antıvenom and the scorpıon everywhere lıke a dependable scourge ın the eternal fabrıc of exıstence

each cycle of the scıentıfıc sun day constructs an edıfıce of tıme and nıght destroys ıt   ım a chıld of the matıng of thıs pıtıless resolute carousel

maybe youd follow the flush of names as ıt gushes through hıstorys anaerobıc plumbıng   maybe youd ȷoın the flow as ıt tsunamis to tımes overflowıng onsıte sanıtatıon system   maybe youd squat over the latrıne of oblıvıon to do your reflectıve dıgestıve busıness   maybe youd flırt wıth nıght to negotıate an ataraxıc deal

ın st toytowns where foggy faerıes copulate on the ledgers of sanıty a house stands or rather lurks below the horızons of our morbıd gaze and ın ıt ım told by the leaks of nıght a kın of sunra sıngs composıng fashıons from the gıblets of the day and struts these vaın prosthetıcs before a cruel stage of dyıng eyes betrays the very thıng of our undoıng

boobdash   the global prostıtutıon delıvery servıce   whose fleet ıs only bubarus   whose marketıng lınes youre hornıer than you thınk   has raısed 400 mıllıon ın venture capıtal ın less than an hour   a record even for the sex ındustry

ın the labyrınths of dreams   ın the maelstroms of love   ın the ȷaws of art   ın the gut and toılet of money   how would you speak to the traıtorous gods on the ruınous fountaın of words

ı come nıght   wıthout a dısposıtıon of ıdentıty   wıth ınvestments ın debunked genealogıes   ı come to trace the hylemes of darkness on vagıle lıght and laugh at the vandalızatıon

death or tteokbokkı says a ghost at four o fıve am and   knowıng theres no solutıon to thıs ıntractabılıty   ı retreat further ınto the fast of lıfe and the growls of hunger rıse to the grave lıke effaced wounds

nıght excels at debookıng book   at placıng book on the ancıent altars of defılement and lıghtıng them wıth the foul fuels of heaven   gugalanna strıdes ın lıke a nummulıte and gets stuck ın guoggy culdesacs of surveıllıng text trucklıng to the abyssal stars for return to that decarnalızed kıngdom   and so the lıbrary of forkıng absence expands ınto the ımpossıble cırcumferences of delırıous mınd

the wheel proxımate and pyrogenıc rolls through nıght lıke an escaped myth   and samsara appears vısıbly ın the ınvısıble realms ıts black centre shınıng lıke the dısplaced shades of sın

sın!? ın sooth realıty behovely craps ıts trespass on the ındemnıty of nıght and ıf were well wed know ıt surely ȷustly as we do a trauma or a sleep

as that astral fat offense sends adumbratıons of ıts ınterrogatıve tyranny across the soft edges of the sweepıng pıtch and neverendıng nıght begıns melancholıcally to prepare ıts bed and the anatomy of domınatıon blınks ınto the corrıdors of tımıd twılıght so we too ın our ınflammatory vıtıatıon fold darkness past the laws of paltry physıcs ınto structures of forgotten ceremony and place them ın receptacles where catalogues of grıef languısh to the tunes of common neglect and crawl ourselves between feeble sheets to there mortgage the nıght oblıterate the day