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.
Demons purified through the spigot will turn pink and peach peonies when the skeleton pony treads the lonely sinking course.
Afraid so afraid of Night Laughter, sprouting up toe jam through the lockets of my most secret Medusa Door, wherein I see you: and what a lovely leaf bird collides our ruby eyes.
