I walked along a path so straight and twisted
Til I came upon a cloud on fire
And with rain I soon was misted
When this dust from the sky had dried
My skin was bright and rusted
Then these flakes they flew and fell
Opened the heavens to show me Hell
And those demons with their silent screams
Showed me beauty in hateful dreams
So when I woke in angel's arms
It seemed their pains had done no harms
. . . It was gentle fingers had left the scars. . .

while the young kids
burn their lips on
unfiltered cigarettes
and the poets
are distracted,
i'm kneeling in an alley
flushed with desire
clutching your number on a napkin.

while the children
and the saints
are crying in dysentery
behind guerrilla masks and guns
i'm imagining the flesh of your stomach
folded over the length of my thigh
and the roar of a volcano
in your heart.