Tangier III

by Dianna Dragonetti, Contributor
__________________________________________________________________________________________

“I’m so weak, Tangier, I’m so weak”

She awoke with a start, inexplicably atop a pile of used band-aids, wearing a man’s shirt and no pants with a tattoo of the words “hello again” on her left shoulder

Where Are Your Smiling Eyes Now?
Ringed with black liquid, Thick Black Barbaric Lines

She is crumpled on the pavement; she is the broken umbrella on the side of the road
She is weeping and melting and dead, already dead

Hello, hello again
Across the street, a dilapidated building trembles, a cinderblock falls and smashes a small wooden cross and the Girl cries out to mourn the sacrilege, the loss or the lessening of God, the Ageless And Compulsory God

The sidewalk begins to pulsate and undulate in devoted genuflection and her heart is filling up with water

The voice of her dead brother emerges within her subconscious and shrieks: “It’s time to get hooked on prescription meds and cigarettes, Dolly!”

And her flesh is suddenly dappled with cuts, hearts and swastikas and flowers and eyes and women’s faces!

Hello, hello again

Tangier has died; and here she is, vulnerable and wilted on asphalt before a collapsing building of steadily crumbling brick
To this appalling display she cries:

“Do Me, Violators!”

As the horrific avalanche of dusty, spontaneously decrepitating industrialization rains down upon her:

“Do Me, Violators!”

Hello, yes, hello!

“Do Me, Violators!”

The cries are fervent and vibrant and in this moment seem infallible.
The Urchin Princess is nubile and youthful and strong.

The mass of burning brick (stale and thick) finally collapses; it crushes and kills her.

The ground rumbles delightedly. It splits into infinitely many small fractional pieces and consumes and digests the delicious wreckage.

And the scattered shards of bone and shreds of bloodied flesh (now steadily dissolving among stone and concrete and sanctified lumber in the belly of the Earth) murmur softly,
Hello again”…

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SOME THINGS ABOUT US

LANDFILLS is a grassroots literary, arts and culture online collective based in Chicago. All work is original, except the featured images that accompany text posts (which are blatantly stolen from tumblr.com). Complaints should be directed to Po via Twitter.
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