Wee-Small

Celluloid Trances

A desolate cycle of aeroplane chimes above in the sky, amidst clouds cooling on the calm of the hazy moonlight, and skateboarders settle at the edge of the pier, rolling joints, while the night is gored by the glimmer of red neon dive bars.

And I watch a car flirting with the traffic lights, blinking in and out on the metallic pole, with words being carved on by insane, heartbroken people, crying out in tie-dye sundresses and belting the national anthem. It’s a strange scene.

The city is all but a silhouette, and the sea erases it hips, and brings out the neck with a killing anticipation of advocating life against the art. The air slips in the gaps between the wet wooden floors, cracked with time that went begetting change, and besetting visions, it hides someplace for me to breathe in while I’m still in lonesome stasis, and while…

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