I am Ether
and it's hard luck these days
with nobody making you famous

There is a lead cloud pregnant
with memories worse than burns
raining like errant artillery

I have to bite with my best teeth
to rewind pleasure and fossilize
painful reputations

You put murderers tattoos on my
social membrane by a diseased loop
Obviously I run like a rabbit and

backflip and rip in half the sky
Anonymity boils
Jarry shoots his ephemeral pistol

outside the theatre at fictional
Paris of your half dream
these ghosts circle your nerves

bleeding christmas sugar
gasping kerosene charisma
atop the peak of repute