My Stretchy Shell

Elvis Costello knew how to write music. Listening to his work always takes me somewhere else, some place happy. Smooth and intriguing, like a bottle of red wine without a label. I can't listen to him without long cigarettes. "Red dogs under illegal licks."

Where am I? I am trying hard to save myself. I put myself somewhere in a lie. Sell my shell to a whore who needs it more. Empty bellies, return to your false prophet.





Cali-sun come break My heart. Salty breeze calmly runs through the hair. The car's engine bullets the cargo down the highway. The heart is pounding, the blood is burning through the body. The nose tastes the sea, the sun feels warm on the face. Nothing is real.