Two Prose Poems by Based Mountain


stave church in town

for a.d, the first to go all city.

yeah – he was the kind of kid who grew his hair long – listened to black metal on tapes – buried his forest green denim jacket in the dirt. a red twine knot around his zipper – so when he hit the head – silver snot thru bloodied nostrils – he could do-up his pants. you could never tell if he was on the nod or just agreeing with you. they found blackened kabbalah on his body – occult numbers in stick and poke – on woodburn by the station. in my dream he stood on a threshold – it started with escape – he smiled and turned away – it ended with his girl in black wayfarers – screaming in the ambient noise of soil.

I bought a nice thing and left the box in my recycling bin

but there are vampires in my city – i put garlic in my chain – is that the wind or is it cars. i stare out a small window – half open – not fully open but half. boots, soft leather, and synthetics all marching thru cracked teeth. my view is fucked by a low sun – yellows and oranges melt the sidewalks like peach ice cream. i’m still by the window tho. the one half open. unwrapping my driftwood pikes – the stars will start crying soon – or is it a woman – i look around. this room looks like a french prison cell – breathe slowly – one i saw online. it’s shit but i’ll stake any motherfucker stepping through that window. the one fully open now – not half but full. the one with screams and bloodstained drapes.

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