The poison forms a straight line after a rumble, and, after the fallout, the tin can is pried open. Nothing left to lose. The blood drains. We saw him stumbling and bleeding to death on the side of the road, between a pair of headlights, hanging off of static ropes, threadbare and string tight. We left in a hurry when we heard he was in danger. His rope must have doubled as a wick after it was soaked in fast acting poison. We didn’t move quick enough.
Because we left in a hurry, we left the lights on, neglectfully, back home. A buzz in the monitors. Crickets in the control room. A rodent at the faucet. Tin can kicked around. Faithful science. Hope the house didn’t burn down. Hope nobody threw away that tin can.
• Miguel Isaza: http://miguelisaza.com
• Dragon’s Eye Recordings: http://www.dragonseyerecordings.com
More about: Miguel Isaza, Silvia Kastel
