Oiled

Pulling my heart, two beats
somethings in our hands, hands tied
with the flowers behind my back
pulled sunlight under my ears
inside of the blue plum closet
plunged into the spears
morning
is in the door,
back of my head
is gone
pulled my hair, pulling my hair
all the air is gone
closed in the boiling room
dancing wings on the crow
feathers something weird
time in the dirt
born from
the slurp.
I am the rolling stone
gathering all the mold.
half reality, half cartoon
I nodded off,
my rolled up sleeves in check
pigs in the pocket smoke coming
from the sneeze.
her purse held a treasure
ashes in the cold rain
fold in the same
brain.
inches behind the
chicken
tree
you reach
for the remote
under your breath you
say i love you to death
but
the cock roach spoils the show,
i see the flies in your eyes,
they are all unzipped
inside a mind
caressing your soft tender
angel fat.
I don't mind the same same same
thing everyday
if it gets me going keeps me alive
i got the the graves in the notebook
cobble stone feet
trembled hooves on the soiled
black curtain
memory's faded but the buffoon is mentioning
Saturday
cold pain taken by your entrenched heels
saturated so rolled on the hill
two strings broken
on the violin
cover the minds with a white sheet, table
cloth dancers.
outside it much quieter, cracking
down, tuckering down, people living to tell about it.