—Jack Spicer
Fast, furious,
never having
met. Just dat
ed, night after
night (your
days). These
days the TNT
explodes,
coming out
of the web’s
holes like
smoke ris-
ing from
ears. Y
our ears,
too sweet
to smoke.
There’s
no soul
anyway,
as you
like to
say. Or
is that
all in
my head?
We con
quered
each o
ther, ch
ained our
selves to
gether th
rough that
hole in the
center of
the earth.
They dug
all the way
through it,
you know.
I didn’t
believe it
either, how
magma
cures all
ills. In
fact, I
think,
as I
chase
the ch
ain, my
attempt
to find
our end
of this
world,
until I
can s
ee my
toes
melt,
I did
not be
lieve in
anything
but you.
