A Spontaneous Prayer
by David Hay, 31st October 2022
Thatcher and Regan blow holes of smoke to lasso the stars and bring them down to their tongues, before swallowing them like caviar. It is always the sweet taste of crushed potential that gets them going.
A silent rectum opens in horror, as Iguanas crawl out and place their muddy feet on every wall and ceiling. The terror is soon replaced by annoyance. When a man spits LSD in your eye before jumping off a bridge but there is no splash. He fell through the blue milk of a great eye into corridors of thought that unswervingly turn vowels into sunsets and spiders web light in the corners, frost glinted