We spoke of hope
with frogs in our throats;
our pulse
leaping from one
boiled heart
to another

We stood upon
stilts, laughed like
dying hyenas;
and saw that our
lungs had made
nests in the sky

Smoke billowed
from the gaping sockets
of your skull, and I tucked
my fingers into the holes
as though they were empty
change purses

And with a little jangle here,
a little rattle there, it made you ***
a bouquet of roses from betwixt
your getaway sticks

Suddenly we were memories
all over again, unwoven seeds
planted deeply in the great abyss

Where dark was but a word,
a skinny string tied to your
*******, and it was
something we'd always remember

I croaked, and died right after;
but death was only Act 1 of
this anti-climatic nightmare

We woke up,

and with hush

upon our trembling lips,

spoke of

beliefs.