In the lopped off corridor
voices are taking their fleshly form.

Light crackles at the limits
of the opposite entrance
winged zone's departing swiftness.

Cliff side's blinking adverts
the trunk of a chocolate soda
vents of skylike prominence
cracked embers seeking a configuration.

Riveted silent tables
ascending pillars of sexy smoke.

And the stylish bullet hole
in the gown wrapped around
a poor sucker's head.