thursday in the moon and stars  
while their ghetto guitars
were heating and loud cars were yearning
and brimming again she'd cry instead of weep so shockingly
and plaster the walls with paper knobs

this rocket her in boots had awoken in harmony
where yesterday's obsession was stale perfume

in a season of these jolly giants they'd strangely gangrene
a station with Rapunzel and her raps and pictures
that in zesty cornflower she'd let her hair down
till a rain shower grew over her eye in the sky
then her pilot saw such a cloudburst and jettison her
deeper in the ground where she laid the beast