Make me drink the orange-growing vines inside a drop of water; I sit in this bubble and I see the world as they transcend through slaughter; you drink the rain and bring me more strange parodies;
waiting for your darkness in the call, waiting for your call in a Tuesday window slot;
the driver forced you to buy a new one, a grown one, a torn one; a little boy brightly needs to see me, a little bird brightly needs to feel me;
forge the holy waters by the saunas, the natural sauna to drill in the Sun to drive me into the harkings through your brain, your frontal lobe, your northernmost pole;
crashing into cities, foraging through the dark;
you can’t take away from me, I’m in the single most nearest computer screen: did you see her by the lamppost? In the window, walking in the window—she got hit with the wind, though;
the brown hedge waters, they’re seeking you; they seek the driest triumphant day to reform the nations, reform indications about the way you dress, send a PSA about how to look at your chest!
Can you see me lurking in the window? Can you feel my hand through your twins, though? HER: Where does the gale blow?
HIM: Do you mean where the wind blows?
HER: Oh, the gale goes where the wind blows?
And he thinks she’s stupid, so her drinks her like a syrup and drizzles her; life is mirrored.
My whole heart has been contaminated by the single-use lines of you; I’m just a cigarette, a cigarillo with a frequent contempt for matrimony, busted **** inside the head—make me with lace of yarn; take me, trace me into the most prettiest fabric in the sea, with hair falling down Mountain Holy; I drift into your yard, with the life outside focused on my hands and green tops with hearts into jars—not that song.
Your song, (yeah, you) your song, the one you wrote for me (with calamezzo!) Mazaretto, that’s my name. I remember. Yeah, you. I remember you. Why would you say that, huh? I ask between gritted teeth, and gasping breaths. You thought it was okay to say that, huh? My voice heightens and cracks as I whip into you; sweat drips down your sides, I want to rip your heart.
Don’t tell me, don’t see. The sea is far, wide, stretched in your cavities; the crevices of your hide; my fish doesn’t like that. She takes everything away! She holds them inside of her cave, while she swims with her tail in her legs. She logs their heads there,
she holds their heads there; she follows the leader, she saw her as a cheater.
Maybe if you are lucky you can get a selfie of my chest . . .