The Gateway to Eternity
On the wings of a three-day speedball high, laid to rest on concrete, under the haze of her purple bell curve. Hot taco sauce ayahuasca coming on, her bells calling the dulcet yip-yap of the ghost dog, yo quiero tacos, yo soy un culo con sombrero. Tracers of over the mountain of dew kickstart orange swirls wild in the night. Winged meat birds crunch, thumping ahead, take flight through the universe’s drive-thru vagina, the holy mother Chalupa of the ethereal, the gateway to eternal late night culinary hallucinogenic Nirvana. Live mas mother fucker.
Wings
Before the years and mayhem took hold of them, before he hated them and what they came to be, Phil tore the wings from butterflies. He loved the beauty of monarch, red admiral, peacock, and small tortoise flappers. He loved the beauty of destruction, and the destruction of beauty. Loved the chaos those gripping boy vise-strong digits could wield on his small world. He loved the chaos of beauty and the beauty of chaos…and when he grew tired, he started to watch birds…
ABOUT THE ARTIST
JD Clapp lives in San Diego, CA. His work has appeared in Cowboy Jamboree, Bristol Noir, Roi Fainéant Press, trampset, Punk Noir and numerous others. In 2023, he was a Pushcart nominee in nonfiction, and had a fictional story selected as a finalist in the Hemingway Shorts, Short Story competition. He is a regular contributor to Poverty House. X @jdclappwrites. IG @jdclapp
Images generated on Magic Studio, collage by Raddy
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