45*21

stars framed by midnight
dice thrown into the cupboards of old ladies
who regain their youth as pigeons
we float down on winds of oar
the cantilevers bleed in the sound
stop chucky from murdering, you say
there is a liquid, it doesn't drip
the way you want it too
so they smother the kids with agents
dancing on water floats
pillar of cotton holds up paper and springiness
just give Pam five bucks
the coat fell into the closet of unforgivens
they ramped up before they hit the median
four kids in a black sedan
the sister as if knowing awaits the call
the call of wolves in the center atmosphere
it turns angelic on us
like caterpillars that eat our thrown up cookies
and the diaper smelled of peaches
as we climbed the tower of our own design