I'll find my bitch and ride
over the decorative cemeteries
and the gilded book of the damned
laughing through the eyes of a peacock feather
painting a whole cliff while smoking
I watch the windows that are empty
and fill them with the dancers
whose lux frames only I have known
I fix the hanging wings with wax
and let them leave the barn
like a stream of cloaked breeze
escaping the zone of robotics
swimming the seam of an inverted valley
lost in kisses I received before the resurrection
spiral staircases dripping with thick genetic material
her devil horns of a satin mask
with lightweight bulletproof backing
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