45*21

these buildings and their lollipops
rearrange your desires and destinations
in this fire engine time is a flame thrower
the divine belly in a glass blown dream
cranked from the tractor oil night sky
I give you my hand as the substance wanders
he stood above and sprayed and dripped
the dragons appeared a gray, blue, aliseran crimson
the spray of warmth like steam on the face
this window of black leather that separates
us all by mirrors of mistrust is what we ask
when we ask the dust
the fuzz under chin in my mansion of time
is like a ghetto, err toward happy
the punk walked down the street with green
halo mohawk singing so loud it echoed on the houses
John Wayne was a fag as if it meant something
to sleeping angels in desolate holes
you cram it all in a bag and it retires in a frowz
the Nashua clicks with its heated lodgers
we put ice on our wounds then it's morning