by Russell Nichols
RIP Shock G
…back to the beginning
of this time loop bed
head spinning round and round
a carousel out-of-order
in the dark custom-made hands
leave marks like stamped
passports at every border from
france to kenya to mexico to india
we keep the heat in carry-ons
and need no wings to reach the sun
candles turn icarus
as frankincense burns like words
on tips of tongues
bearings become elusive
all-inclusive trips to higher planes
bang membranes like skins of drums
and the strums
of a spanish guitar finger
the nylon strings of our shadows
we are summer’s puppets
doing a magic dance in a circular
labyrinth stealing away from real
life like vigilantes beyond the fabric
of spacetime but still woven together like
the satin on your panties
and blackout curtains that come
in handy in hostel environments
where the scenery may change
and the language may change
and the rooms may change
and the food may change
and the sheets may change
but the freaks stay the same
round and round around we go
on a never-ending ride
that takes us…
Russell Nichols is a speculative fiction writer and endangered journalist. Raised in Richmond, California, he got rid of all his stuff in 2011 to live out of a backpack with his wife, vagabonding around the world ever since. Look for him at russellnichols.com.
