The Inevitability of Friction

C. looks guy sick as if sweated below a million toiling suns or toiled below a thousand sweating sons or broke an infant winter kind of reverie.
Aye C. looks guy sick right enough. Pretend lines.
Utterly defaced for reasons beyond anyone's ken.
The potential swimming pool success of a swimming pool sun. The troughs of echoes.
Yeh.
Mild feminine yawn and chatters.
Paw at me decay.
Yeh.

A thousand flashing TV sons exposed suns exposed sons exposed suns exposed sons.

Ice cream yeh. Feminine yeh. Asinine paw. (unintelligble) despair. Calm despair. Yeh.

Lucy Dee yeh. Tentative yeh. Swimming pool yeh. Bikini reverie yeh. Japanese situation. Garden situation. Boredom situation.
The inevitability of friction.

Garage band envy. Lyric lightswitch envy. The seeping pools. Damp eyes blinking.
Tragi-comic stoicism. Valiant violence. Noble cruelty. An open pussy.

Somnambulent winter cruelty. Shards of despair.

A thousand million yawns and fucks. Miasma of sunrises. Broken seeping skies to infinity.
Bath stifle bath stifle bathe stifle bath stifle back back back stifle stifle wet wet yawn yawn yawn.
(Echo switch).
Process repeats. Faces thrusting towards me.

I held her by the wrists.

Faces of weathered whores through fogged bus window.

Are you talkin' tae yerself mate?
You actually write this pish? he muttered with caustic incredulity.