The down and our tour , 2018

by Fin Sorrel

The down and out tour, 2018


Spanish hairspray woke tasted like the window cold on my hairy limp, that of music. Today just farting along, forward we Wiz by serpent trees nesting, the  quality of the eggs so high Walhalla Lavonia Atlanta 101 MI. Lake Hartwell State Park full of boat houses the scales of fish replicated on the sides of the boats to dive underwater in a state of blathering. From barbiturates so deep in there, to sink your teeth in, or turn water into snow or soil.

The city had a lonely energy to it. Like empty clouds, it heavily passes anyway, to a further down destiny.

I walked the streets faceless, suitcase full of memories, no tourists would find interesting.

You're cold winter crashes in, deforming.

Obscurity feels all new tangled web of old selves heart on heart still the blood pumps through the body and enters the subway, pipes, and conduits, the blood pumps every direction. Floating with my briefcase, I swim in fear my feet will be bitten, and hold my knees up from those deep waters.



Spanish webs vulture Crimson appetites slick finger points the draw, and drips the digital ink down its sheepskin computer, Walter whistles wind bus window billy goat and horses out there snackin' hay. Little armadillo soup hands opposite in the bowl. TV static --

Hebrew Invasion under the elm tree, carry box of mystery on a bike up the hill, and release the basket of it into the tree --

Everything passes, quickly now. Every time I look out the window I see that they've slaughtered another tree. A haunting sign: Banks County.

Space stations everywhere on a unique line of thread gather up connecting tissue at the intersection, on a galaxy map at low Rumble of metal and Light.

The pre-galaxy has arrived equipped with samples that Rumble low on it's back.

My Escape From New York was tragic, a cold looming winter they called living was Rising, hopeless and stuffed to the gills, and sorrow lay before me, naked and shivering.

It's face I could not see, a face like a picture rubbed blurry that continues to move.

If I kneel down and try helping, it only asks more, like a disease when you keep eating, but cannot stay full.

The part of me who craves knowledge could never get fed and at the same Junction too full.

It is the struggle between domestication and the outer elements, where striking a balance becomes the only focus for achievement and is a worthwhile goal.

I feel like I've let down my friend I'm leaving, because I'm leaving, the return is far too difficult and both practicality and execution. My calling is elsewhere, in my body and in attunement with an all New Balance, outside of addictions, controls and Pathways to sorrow.

My time on this Earth has been meaningless, all I see is the broken bottles and refused elements of the past.

Hi Dive & Dine at fast food restaurants in attempts to nourish the exoskeleton of my old peaceful Oblivion I grew up to believe is reality, but I walked in the dream that became a nightmare.

The hunger, only a noose around the neck, a weakness for familiarity, some form of memory to the old, that road that leads nowhere, to leave that road, it is raining now.


Wash of the river over car motors spin calibrated fish swim past, under overpass.

Swish, the tires rinse waterfall pavement electric breathes smoke tatters the roof with drum obscure and Many voices in the rain low Hollow opens the middle of a parking lot tap leaf and can and old piled bottles growing green insides Mouse rats passed

the rain is the brain Talking Taps to locate with sadness through breath held tight rattling distance down the fog in the tracks.

The shape of the cage talks itself into circles, a violence is limited.

Rain comes down in metallic spacecrafts long and thin and dissolving as they plug into the Earth and Stone, wood and bottles and Bone.