Mister Moan

The beat, it comes – sinking down in the pillows of the bed.

Your body heavy in the sheets, waiting to bring you down.

Getting lost – this spasm wont stop so we ride it deep into the dark crease of the morning, nipples pressed against the glass and sweat on your brow.

Paperback writers and lost dreams – stub your toe, its coming for you. He’s waiting for the newest thrill – your father, his daughter, the child of what never happened. Live the lie as it comes to you and then write an epitaph for the fear you put to bed last week.