bicycle bells
and never setting sun
a beer or three
wash it down
smell the sweet
iodine on the wrinkled
canal waters
yes
wash it down
what an unfortunate
betrayal
these last rounds
lock key
memory
brain
brain
brain
and home
laugh with the dead
without dying
why don’t you
play the game…
why don’t you
play the game.
not that the
night is ever
to die. Forever
is our feast.
Hungry are my eyes
seeing them hungry
eyes looking at me
how deep be these cliffs
that lay between
the edges of this
structure
and the heads it is
feeding on.
“there is a land…”*
now you see it
now you don’t
hide to seek this
vulture of a
desire.
(*far far away…)
the same hungry
faces of the bees
swarm
with ever prosecuted motion
the idols of
fashion.
look but
don’t touch
either learn
or teach
to touch.
but touch
touch, touch…
time now
time is to sharpen
the toxico of the sting.
