45*21

some say they have criteria before disappearing
beyond the viral vial of teardrops
we collect them in our book of syntax
it does not betray the devil
everybody is looking for the vales of truth
hidden behind the sentiment of these words
I s'pose that was a good joke
what is the value of this code the sad clown knows
his face painted of every sound in the dark
velvet that lines my coffin home
I pop out a paper doll in your vast night
okay! what is this vital code?
it tears us from our day's concentration
we spill into nights like into a diaper
that is so gross! says the birth twin
what's the Viking doing with that code of centuries
we recall her in the pages of lost diary
under the stairs in the mall
silently sleeping, quietly dreaming, doing nothing
a hangover of valium and champagne
what? have you died in my cubicle