tele migraine              
                                        
                                  
                                          
   the so called "third migraine". it's   
 like a regular migraine but it does not  
   hurt there's no pain, the cosmos is    
     there and it's draining the evil     
        straight out of the wound.        
                                          
  it's massaging your temples, piercing   
  you, entering your blood, cracking the  
   skull open. a paw grips your brain,    
   plays with it, pulls it out into the   
                 cosmos.                  
                                          
      there's comets! space oddities.     
   solitary oscillations. carrier wave.   
  burned away by the suns radiation until 
      only the faintest trace remain,     
   eventually caught in the gravity well  
    of some second rate water planet.     
                                          
             it's raining sap.            
       we're getting sweet and wet        
                                          
                                  
                                          
   my lunch break is over and i need to   
   get back to the shop. lynne is there   
  alone and hasn't eaten yet. i take the  
   back route up from the beach to avoid  
    the crowd. sing a little to myself.   
                                          
  life gets to prosper outside of - 
    suddenly, an acid flashback: i step   
   down in my mind (like an open mind /   
   fractal stinger / bismuth staircase)   
   and wade in shadows... surrounded by   
            memory negatives,             
         like uprocessed film....         
                                          
                                  
                                          
  we're closing for the evening. the shop 
    is in the bottom floor of a narrow    
    mudbrick building, painted teal. we   
  live on the second floor, together with 
      the owner. as i close the metal     
    curtain, behind its characteristic    
      sharp rattling i can hear the       
              curfew sirens.              
                                          
   wormy street wolves outside, chasing   
     entrances in the dark alleyways,     
  wanting in, getting desperate, lapsing  
  to search higher, on roofs, climbing on 
 balconies. and there's bound to be some  
   reckless tourist who didn't heed the   
  warnings, never closed their windows... 
                                          
  or, in some cases, the houseowner had   
    the window bolts weakened, and when   
  cleaning up the aftermath would pocket  
             their belongings.