CRAZY BY NUMBERS

Twenty five cigarettes smoldered in a mount of ash; a tiny mass grave of expendable soldiers of no greater importance than the country they came from.

Twenty one grams had called out to her, without my soul preaching the halo of love, while eighteen seagulls, outside watched the incoming waves for fleeting prey.

Seventeen books sat gathering dust in an apartment where the sunny coast was forever hidden by sixteen year old curtains covering the fifteen stained windows of the room.

Meta Carpenter is her name, my lover while I stroked her soft, pale sensual flesh, kissing the heavy breasts of Polish goddess, as my wizened face moved softly to the side and buried itself into the bright golden hair of the north-face angel.

The spitfire was aroused with the fires of Hades’ lust, with my swelling groin, innumerous sperm commit mass suicide over the curvy continent.

Fourteen sighs after the transient ecstasy began to fade. Time was but a crow, flying at me and then gone into the horizon.

I sauntered back and forth through the twelfth city I visited, seething with artificial growth. Nine phallus skyscrapers, erect and defiant against the impoverished and fucked as two satiated eyes begun to notice interference in the fractal patterns, split from the great cosmic egg beyond a harboring reverie within the trance.

Six rotten teeth, some falling, some plucked like feathers from my not so pearly whites. Three interferences of the hologram as this programmed machine mind falls into a migraine of pangs filled with distortion. My mind begins to play its fiendish tricks as the city before my eyes quavers and shudders in unison with my sporadic blinking.

The one zenith of my transient dream lies ahead as midnight chimes twelve signaling the conclusion to my body and world.

Zero, so this is what is like to be at the end of the extremis, rising above illusion like a phoenix in orgiastic cacophony.

Here comes the silence, again.