Tuning the radio like a frisky ******
I keep chewing my teeth and honey bees with my gums…
My incisors slumber
When my ghosts are gazelle..
They rend what meat is Shame.
And That Tastes
Like 9 Hells…
Only Petunias admit are Stars…

A Wayward Bruise
While tuning my Radio
To a Farce.

And a Complete
Disassembly
Of a Thing
With a

Heart.