Gateways lean us through this hollow porch where we can hide from the sun beside the prank carcasses and dayglo ribbons of an elf burn.
Cast a black moon spell over all the land, as though every dream conjured in a magic crystal ball could refer and reflect to your crunchy riffs hobbling up the sidewalk in scruffy glory (as clothes dance without owners).
Hunger for pines brought you crash-dancing beneath weary beats where your warbles lilaced caramel channels.
Queens took the spirals from gold lollipops, neglecting the genius whose perfume cracked and peeled as it disease-blinded the bottle.
Vampires are recording muted laugh-tracks in your bedroom as we scour the twee and pill plugs with pink plastic goo.
If wasting your young years, brush away your tears and run faster than the speed of train explosions; past sister, storm, and candlelight; through Regret's cement, if only to skin and flay this moment a harming icicle.
Tuscan Leather know breaths to lick the ones and zeroes and leave the chorus girls on the tarantula headdress.
Poison in the night air/licking at a gravestone;/we caught it unaware:/however, the epidemic cast such a pall,/and, unfortunately affected all:/even this one red dress,/ held, yes, in my won paw:/ reddening and laughter-infecting my gaping maw.
Play with me, the bass for me, for I am running through a haunted forest as my blouse terrorizes what is left of the fragmenting orange leaves; yes, and let Fire smile as the chestnut falls.
Chameleons know misery because a mother's nipples are always in tunes of wavering nourishment: white clouds above the sea of ferns, rainbowing nature between black-out shocks; puncture a minnow if you grow off course: there are bullets in my cheeks.
Teenagers were in heat when New York City streets uncoiled themselves from around the subway lungs to proposition a pauper hovering with candles to dream Locked Locket.
We soldier on, playing goofy games and promising our hiccups will bloom sometimes into nourishing meals for an unseen alien species (speckled at the curb).
Spaceflight spacefights were deflecting dotted curves up along the course as the alligator drew real red meat from The Exhausting Thirst Quencher.
If dreams were rivers, could we collect reflected mountains and swim with small planes beneath the frog bubbles?
We were just orchard burglars of the night, haunting some smokestack as if it could light any hunger aflame and just leave us rockets to the rainbow.
Comb your fingers through your hair and I will be your ring and signet, weaving we the snakes in crackly tubes when our ears exploded at that local show in somebody's basement.
We used to swing under fig and apple trees, but then the dawn changed the meaning of our shadows which, emblazoned in an omen, left through separate doors within the same reflection.
White Feathers reach for blood when the clock strikes midnight and the thumping bass lifts the curtains from my eyes: I see you smoky through the beads.
When my rat teeth release the lemons, my rat tail stirs this dream a permanent Rip Van Winkle as my poisoned rat brothers relax on a towheaded cloud.
