The park trees then all strewn with lights, all lit green. Pinpricks laced in matrices that our teary eyes saw as a single stream of vert encircling us/the copse. We sat, cross-legged, wobbling, undulating atop cement. Pax crushed three pills right on the road, snorted them up with steady beams of drool connecting him to earth. Green lights haloed around us forming neat up- and then came my turn, and I had my bra off and I remember green skin, pale and lit as if it for ceremony (and it was). Pax flicked a warm nipple as I slag-eyed the night sky and then 3 more pills went down to powder and up into me they came, rose clear, into me with bits of park-debris: paw-nails, fir needles, space dust maybe. Pax lay back and drank out constellations like he was some tree nourished by starlight (and he was, I thought internally). I could feel soon the icepick in my head and just then the spreading cool, I held it there, wounded, creases folding. Somewhere inside me vessels like withies glowed green cause light can travel on powder. Fireworks began exploding, literally, and I suddenly remembered it was Canada Day (Jul. 1) and everyone was down at the Commons watching less exciting powder become light. Refused to look up then. I said ‘Canada, Canada’ and then crawled atop Pax’s legs, licked knees and then nipped thigh. Scratched a tit on top of the pavement and felt the cut. Green light on my back, on moles and birthmarks green light intermingled with our wet sounds, this place we’d found to hide. And then the beat of something behind us, regular people, not drunk or high or childlike. A bunch of fit-fucks strollingcalmed/understanding, walked on. Didn’t scream or nothing. Buzzing light and the concrete spread out beneath us like its own sky. I tried to peel it away in chips and thought maybe this would work but no, I was dreaming, sleeping deep and Pax saw this, spread my lips apart and drooled into my mouth. I smiled crisp and narrowed my eyes on his and kissed him deep, we rolled then with rocks in our ass-cheeks and came together and didn’t feel ourselves having sex, just our minds doing base-level subconscious nonsense alone and not alone, lit green and humming electric like a broken lamp, like a wet plug, like a bunch of melting circuitry.
- frank hinton illuminati girl gang 3