I Side-Slipped,
Ripped out my own spine and licked the bone all over,
Pictured punching an overcoat tailor all the way through,
Past the goo and let the blood run down the grooves
In my arm

As I step through him and his new hole to the other side
A place of fortunes where no one can be absent,
Where we are all present there at the same time,
One misstep in rhythm away from taking permanent residence.

I Side-Slipped
And heard a saxophone and a trumpet on my way there
From a gravel creek
And saw the wind fan the flames from a rectangular set of candles bronze and peachy in a Freudian blur of a parking lot.

I Side-Slipped
And now you can wash in me everywhere
In a tub with the inscription, "Eyes and class are proportional."