And so let that be the end of it,
when a parade hits the front range like a sunset,
and the coyotes won’t shut up.
When the world
fountains drinks for us.
When the shitty floors creak and
the walls speak to us.
Everything will change now.
Let’s bathe in butter, gorgeous.
We’ll dye the sheets in saffron
to respect the sex.
We’ll make love to the candle light.
We’ll scream obscenities at the moonlight.
Let’s burn a dollar a day,
fuck it.
Let’s sew the constellations into our clothes.
I’ll bring you a bathtub made of gold.
The floors and other things will quiver.
Let’s make the deniable whither.
Let’s not make sense.
We can shout in libraries and dine and ditch.
We can kill each other with service.
Let’s kill neuroses without blame.
Let’s make Weatherfield our middle name.
We can eat like we are feating it,
We can dance like the world isn’t our shit.
We can walk.
We can fade and we can rhyme.
