She said we would feed on broken concrete using railroad ties as straws and the tops of skyscrapers as forks. She didn’t say this with words. She announced this loudly with her collar and cheek bones being megaphones and fancy electronic displays; her mouth was robbing banks with import cars and many sidearms. There were no breaks and all the lights in the city were green. People cheered from windows as we sped along pulling up yellow dotted lines, flicked onto our backs like mud from a teenagers bike racing through some forest with a precious payload of porno magazines.
Headlamps on foreheads pressed to tempered glass and the stereo is on high; no headlights or windshield wipers, because this is love that reaches back to memories that are carved from Ovaltine and Kix. Roofs of mouths scratched with corn and packed with chocolate: wartime in a mouth with new age medical remedies. Remedies written about in day-glow and typefaces that are water parks and cotton candy.
She was probably there the first time I choked on my own spit or bit my lip while eating soft food, watching from afar, a peep hole, no, a periscope reaching up from the damp part of a tree right behind the bark. She is whispered bass lines in dreams. She was probably that strange bird I once saw behind my neighbors house who’s wings pointed to the sky as if to say “don’t shoot”, but its breast was aglow with something like a gasoline fire.
Oh, she’s a certain tree growing out of a dumpster. You can’t find anything more beautiful in stacked bricks or glass houses like ponds somehow also stacked on city streets. Nothing is better found in the gossiping whirls of alley shadows.
When we have sex the neighbors listen in with the intensity of sports fanatics and I believe that, running to the front door’s peep hole, I saw one person taking notes and a local reporter scurry away.
Shit eating grins picked clean with rebar toothpicks.
Headlamps on foreheads pressed to tempered glass and the stereo is on high; no headlights or windshield wipers, because this is love that reaches back to memories that are carved from Ovaltine and Kix. Roofs of mouths scratched with corn and packed with chocolate: wartime in a mouth with new age medical remedies. Remedies written about in day-glow and typefaces that are water parks and cotton candy.
She was probably there the first time I choked on my own spit or bit my lip while eating soft food, watching from afar, a peep hole, no, a periscope reaching up from the damp part of a tree right behind the bark. She is whispered bass lines in dreams. She was probably that strange bird I once saw behind my neighbors house who’s wings pointed to the sky as if to say “don’t shoot”, but its breast was aglow with something like a gasoline fire.
Oh, she’s a certain tree growing out of a dumpster. You can’t find anything more beautiful in stacked bricks or glass houses like ponds somehow also stacked on city streets. Nothing is better found in the gossiping whirls of alley shadows.
When we have sex the neighbors listen in with the intensity of sports fanatics and I believe that, running to the front door’s peep hole, I saw one person taking notes and a local reporter scurry away.
Shit eating grins picked clean with rebar toothpicks.