shots ring out
jesus christ there's a lot of fires tonight
click clackity pen on grated steel like a song
like a revolution
in that its all,
as in the swinging hips of the thing,
in the nervous twitch,
to a beat machine,
hammering on the impulse
hammering out the impulse,
christening some new dawn with a tap,
flick of a match and smoke smoke
-the wind brings upheavel,
thoughts are starving dogs wilting on the sidewalk,
the propoganda for the good falls on sewnshut ears
coarse and beautifully sewn as everyday language,
fuck that motherfucker in the ass to hell
and so on.
steep and drawn out,
two men kissing goodbye (almost).
suspended in the lush impending,
sittin in the waiting room,
the moon nearly cresting over light pollution,
nearly having a purpose.
the hanging man two and a half seconds before the bucket kicks,
the suspended orgasm,
smattering across air like someone in the midst of CPR,
nearly coming too
finding it, finding it,
the word meander, at the E.
the corpse dangling across the dead body of theater.
-a spinning out like a top
-glass shards flailing in the middle of air,
nearly arms out.
a conversation just beginning.
the object in an acrobat,
brick on window,
again glass flailing,
stop motion in the act itself,
nearly arms in the air,
lighter to rag but just getting a whiff of gasoline,
the difference between an epic and a romance,
feeling less epic and more that last one,
waiting for her,
on the tongue tip,
the shots unfire and fire truck takes back its sirens,
st. louis sleeps, for now,
a tingle and stop
at the feeling.