R A Bateman

Maximum R A Bateman

Fixating restlessly on fragments of desired possibility floating across the midnight sea. Focusing on an auburn fire bobbing its way through throbbing crowds while shoes peel away pavement of caked grime and decay that had collected after generations of passersby that progressed with a carelessness betraying true motivations. The certainty of intersection was possible only under the skies of industrial worlds that had been established with rigorous order for the sole purpose of sending the passengers along their paths in an artificial bliss. Colliding bodies in the heavens spark brilliant blue fires as long streaks of vibrant oil leak across the canvas and pool in substantial spheres at the end of stretched fingers that creep across empty expanses while far beneath the fabric there are wooden struts propping and holding firmly against the pull of endless distraction in the form of false happiness streaming in the skies as digital rainfall under the gaze of satellites where a brief moment exists as a respite and a lone rest stop perched delicately along an infinite interstate occupied by the humbuzz of a sign hanging in a window and the drawling of cicadas.