There is no season in hell and you can’t find a corner in heaven

There is no long lost colony or any sheet entwined escape from these windows

Nobody stabs a bank teller in the neck with the pencils that are stuck to tiny chains

No deserted divine dreamlike droughts destroying daughters

What we have is lost limbs and hustlers

What we want is everything until death

Death does not mean loss to a man who knows her

I’d rather be her ghost

I can avoid any awkward encounter that way

Ducking back in garbage saloons with wigs out

Burnt rubber in holy parking lots and sap covered family trees

July on pink bicycles letting it bend and swerve in front of old winos

Hot air balloons sail pass dropping ropes to the last of the damned

Swing for safety in brick slum of sex and untrimmed lawns

Fuck your religion, I worship a debutante

Ballroom joyride spinsters masquerade in tux like threads

 I pissed in the punch

Sweet tobacco smoke, snake-like up the spiral staircase to her chamber


Vertigo                    Sleep                             demonstrations

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