drunk on purple vapor
in the piss-back of the garage that's rocking
long fingers of sight sprint flashing
through a planet-wide forest
crooked bones jigging on a rope of raw space
ruts where Venus lowers her gun of grace
and takes the powdered wig of fate
stars commence around a rotating stain
gray gashes give a blue sign
wheels torn from a remembered pine
the freedom strings had in breaking
never matched the flash of the golden chain.
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