Death Sun

Jimmi Campkin

jimmi campkin


Long hair, long limbs, long teeth.  I follow, I meander, I stumble…. aimless in your carnage.  I have no purpose beyond your hips, bones and skin that I study like ancient cartographers, as mysterious as the ends of the Earth and as dangerous as typhoons to paper ships.

I worship demons, because I’ve had no divinity in my life.  My hand passes through God, and I’m left with dew sparkles on my arm hair.  I press my hand against your molten skin and my fingerprints melt into your image.  You give me coins for wine, and I strap the empty bottles to my shoulderblades.  I fly into the death sun.

I wake up on damp concrete, surrounded by puddles of my own and others, and you unzip me to release the light.  Your moans echo around the meaningless places – subway tunnels, bus shelters and railway arches.  Empty eyes and…

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