in this cube
of angular anger
there's a town
made of clouds.
sour wind
sounds like bed sheets,
& indigo solar radiation.
don't explain:
our eyes are the same,
but the depressants seem to be
gooeyer in
your world.
find a way
to create a rubber
convenience store.
(to buy squishy cigarettes)
build glass palaces
so the world can
see you strip down.
your world.

and you'd like that.