you:
your broken head and
zombie arms,
paint a concealing shadow, bent and soiled,
around mouths, screeching sweatshirts,
waving street workers,
city truth.
"raindrops, women, lsd, in me..."
camoulflaged mexicans, soul slamming wine,
light mid-afternoon work needles
opening the cut your knowledge devours.
gas quarter ideas run upwind of young vendors;
maddening, flickering times,
closing flip-flopped laughter backwards.
cemetery stained sleep begins images in a laundry:
dimnent gutters
the shirt falls.
you
rumbling the world of hours
save me,
assign yourself a copyright truth effected after tip,
smeared hide-and-go-seek echoes,
coke junkies lowering frustration,
expectation.
play shoot-em-up across the church, lacing sisters expectant,
the attached screaming and forgotten cement radio money-
...then the slamming future sigh.