lie to me,
it's time.
I'm barley even in the room
or in attendance at the banquet
of my cloudy fingertips
lie to me it's time to shake
that old blue saxophone
down in a rattle-puff
fat lip moan
lie to me that I'm as real
as anything that jumps
into the cotchels of the sky
toward a well tied noose
lie to me my
magic limbs
will hold
and I'll be strong
despite my hot
and watery
eyes of lapsang souchong,
my soul
a liquid swirl
of smoke
against my teacup bones