Hidden drums in burning cafes alter the tiger to the nightlife in each candle.
In a jungle of dead radios, I witness an empty swimming pool and a cross-eyed diver.
Shaky hands clutch a cigarette as the black train injects this mountain.
Step inside this electric bungalow if you want to know why the electric bees clap.
You never wanted my videotapes to reflect you, brave as the sun crackling under the cellophane.
Tasting this bridge has never felt better to my footprints, alive with the coral.
I beseech thee: rock into the thunderous shock of UFOs pulling puppet strings.
