Prince Faraway

I. Fontana

The sun said no in the landscape low ochre-black smoke out of ancient gutted cars sinking dead air as Prince Faraway loaded the weapon and thought a pink vagina bled someone’s long fucking tongue.

Fake zinc tiles in the trashed neighborhood while hip hop ominously bump, uh, ah, yeah, exhaust fumes while Prince Faraway tried to steal the tourist woman’s purse huge yellow letters on the disintegrating wall NO MONKEYS brown magenta blood moves sticky on the street, scattered in pools on dusty textured desert avenues jackals and baboons ran away birds flew while soldiers in jeeps listening to rap chew qat laugh Hey boy where some pussy for a brother? Don’t make us kick your childhood in the never.

JFK put on a white chiffon wedding dress and veil for luck while still deafened in the heat one thousand bullets in and out of strangers no he recognized some tribal scars and so he hid waited in fear while flies and flies and flies and feral dogs.

Another time these boys come by the green and dirt hillside Bob Marley Jimi Hendrix and feel good man. And when Fidel starts to rock with his machine-gun, heavy, heavy, noise scares the German Dutch Belgian aidworkers scaredass men trying to be reasonable but their SUV broke down they’re so fucked.

Terminators chewing qat with juicy fruit gum young white women have in their eyes all this unknown which becomes familiar when JFK cuts off that guy’s wrong hands Jimi Hendrix tries on mirrored sunglasses of this bitch white buttocks part just as they run into Prince Faraway and Lebron.

There used to be a village or a trading post with nothing or it had rubber, yeah, and cheetah pelts, monkeys and parrots in cages, unlabeled cans and shit in tilted corrugated tin while Bob Marley thinks Fidel looks way cool in stolen camo, worthless diamonds and colorful money wipe your ass while all the smeary bugs dead birds and snakes, too hot and quickly, Lebron says he’ll go talk to the white men from history’s deserted palace and return soon where fractured music two-three seconds before he dies the bullet like a fly he swats at on his forehead red berries cry from swollen fleshmouth Friday the 13th style be like Jason man.

This magic isn’t powerful enough for shit the i-pod still rhythmically baking while fingers and toes freeze while Bob Marley has gold crazy-glued to his front teeth and Fidel been wounded crying for hours baby baby.

No one pays attention when the rebels loot Nairobi, no it’s not Nairobi it don’t have a motherfuckin’ name might be suburbs of Monrovia or maybe sacrificial pyres burning in Gbanga nigger.

Jimi Hendrix laughs at everything, coldblooded man, filthy, lies, Fidel is just dead while Prince Faraway throws away worthless diamonds for roasted chewy heart-muscle on a stick. Prince Faraway licks his lips sweet warm Coca-Cola doesn’t want the others see he’s bothered by anything but he’s faintly troubled as tremendous oceans split continents never before seen or known so fucking endless but he’s been there before or will be in some other eyeball in his head.

Then all those lions on the nod once on the lost savannah, Prince Faraway knows you must never allow evil demons to gain control of your weapon man… someone with a digital camera asks the grinning woundmouth if.

But wearing the wedding dress and veil from a distant looted alien means no one maybe the bullets won’t in a cartoon JFK closes his weary eyes while Jimi Hendrix tenderly almost friendly passes the spliff seeds popping to Bob Marley. Prince Faraway is thirsty again man three hours raping those blondes next to a pond of tired water hard-ons glistening miles from the bridge over dead river and more insects and corpses in long grass.

See, this tribe will only eat white corn man ‘cause if it’s yellow there’s a spell on it CIA urine fucked us again AIDS was invented in those underground forgotten labs the CIA, oh yeah man the CIA while Prince Faraway adjusts his headphones chafed dick pissing on pale changing body in a blurry snake shape while the lazy beat keeps asking if you want to if you want Fidel’s stripped body becomes an orphan child and Wu Tang Clan beats slow down inside Prince Faraway’s ears he walks veil blowing just the olive pants he stripped from carrying that Mac-10 into this vision he has sometimes of a gigantic palace in unmoving air, big lawn green flowing trees, ostriches pet chimpanzees bright orange and yellow, dark red and pink birds, tigers and Paris Hilton on a leash some gazelle meat sizzling in gray drifting smoke from blown-up cars that’s where he’d just walk down the hall a king through open giant doors no more dread.

Why then in his ancient Antichrist Superstar t-shirt Prince Faraway laughs then he can’t stop no one remembers how those robots in special effects with sick kung fu jumped over everyone, throngs of mine enemies shot down his other universal thought his other mouth of red eyes stream.

Oh he was just driving a silver car down some long street on another planet in the future under some palmtrees that pussy’s gone those schoolgirls little sisters hey their lonesome bodies everyone’s lonesome body when Prince Faraway’s wise older brother materializes head on a stump bumblebees flies buzzing thoughtful in pink smoke can’t find his triggerfinger endless fall slo-mo strings of drool

I. Fontana has lived in Avignon, Guadalajara, NYC; is now in Portland OR. Other pieces have appeared in BOMB, Bikini Girl, Spork, Juked. Recently finished a novel.