The Crowd

The curfew of the liver - long gone. The crowd - drunk, delusional, blank. We were driving, standing still or worse - both at the same time. Howl time, bone time, penetration time ticking slowly in shadows' breaths. The war will never be over and we finally get it. A soul transplant, an euthanasia of disfunctional dreams. Do you still hear the crowd? These mechanic voices of your mothers. They whisper: Shoot.