Crossbows @ Spiritual Sessions (Camden-London)

Tall tales will be the end of we.
Tall heads on spikes, or full of blackbirds burst, and light the way a little further.
Cold girls crouch down on the ventilation grills. Insect souls, with real pressing needs.
Wasteland dawn fires, steel street lights light up your pride as a damp cigarette.
Swallow me down. Swallow me down.
Fell asleep below her frown, in dark places like her heart. Crossed the tunnel, climbed the fence, the further we run the closer we get. With wide spread arms, and sour tongue…
Reasons tie us to the lamp posts. Open beaks project their long shadows. You learnt fast to live high, now learn to live low. Open beaks reclaim their lost halos.
As we burnt our masks, and brushed our wings, we sank in mud up to the knee. Your hands my eyes, my years your bridge, and as I lived through you, you drowned in me.