Datura #12 | 07_2021
THE HOUR by John Tustin this is the hour to shoot my neighbor. this is the hour to get laid. this is the hour to break bottles in the grifting street. this is the hour to strangle who I hate most. this is the hour to converse with the ghosts that reside in cobwebbed attics. this is the hour to tip garbage pails in the windy moonlight. this is the hour spider-man dons his costume and battles imagined enemies. this is the hour to set my hair on fire. this is the hour that waves drown hope. this is the hour to finger besotted wounds. this is the hour that the intrigue concludes and the conclusion begins. this is the hour to induce vomiting. this is the hour to eat beyond satisfaction. this is the hour to bow and shake hands as I bleed to death from the nose and ears. this is the hour to tip the drunken scales toward madness. this is the hour the maniac impatient shows his face. this is the hour I need your arms, your lips, your words. this is the hour my tears dry up. this is the hour I need your tears. this is the hour I need you most. this is any day.
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