Martian Interlude

Burn slow, baby. Burn slow.

Rainforests, Pine forests, multiplexes and cigarettes. School buses, French kisses, video tapes and apocalypse. Fire in the mountain, run, run, run! Pyre at the count of ten, run, run, run! Run through the dirty lane, run through the street. Run through the plastic shop selling plastic beet.

Come through my open door.

Come through the fire.

Swim through the dirty soul.

Swim into desire.

Foggy breath and sweaty lips. Burning bush and seething crown. Why do we touch, why do we kiss? Is it the fire or is it the smoke?

Oil fields and broken beads – empty teats and parched feet. Jarring beats and famous cheats. Oh, how they burn! How they bleat!

They bleat and moan, pitiful and low.

But you burn slow, baby. Burn slow.