someone always turns on the rain
in back of our bodies
dancing to shrug off the poison light
when the party fades to kisses
beams of tar and cum
solidify refrigerator
music to replace the spine
linoleum daggers the crucifixion
of a pet rabbit with string beans

live on beer
punch the face of the living moon
through the windshield
of a looming highrise
licking frost from the bottom
of a tin gray trashcan
the sad lives of criminals
the air excreted form
of a girl's fur coat
swollen cigarettes on each streetside
and flying saucers speaking from the air
to flip the storm drain's power and cloud on
slide the steel traps open and cloud on