Nostalgic hypochondriac,
psychopathic goddess--we pray to your weekends.

                     Sunday night industries hold lunch breaks,
starting with a red bear,
                        a crude blue-eyed, red bear
            by the hands of a child.
                             Soft steps. Physical form.
                   Its eyes suddenly gleam
                   as it moves,
                                 red colors run
                                                           forming waving arms that swim into river canals.
   Dripping rain forming acid that eats away at the sides of the darkroom. Winding staircase
trees rooted and spiraled like broken porcupine barbs existing off the wall. Each leaf made
of copper, tips of yellow
                    floating just as drops from the beginning,
                                            expanding to the form
                                                            ­               of hot air balloons.
                        
                       Some of them supernova'd
            --momentarily spreading themselves thin
                                                     --layers of butter coating this world.
                each puddle of lard echoes with the voice
                                and memory of silver-eyed Alice
                and her children.

                                                      ­                 Irises of cut granite,
                                                        ­                        wine-stained pupils,
                                                         ­  she breaths like Jesus on the cross

                                   --inhales of his bear pelt.