Your home is broken like a clamshell
The meat revealed
Your father sold rugs to unhappy ladies

While the cities burned like blonde hair

Oiled idiots dance into unnecessary rain
This pattern is the same as fingernail

You’ll need it when you get old behind a drunken desk
All the rectangles overturned
All the bedsheets smelling like new rain on the powerlines

This broken home is a new tar road
Walked by lonely sons and daughters
Meeting for a golf course fuck, green as the stars
That have just been born.