dope dealer's glittery eyes match his iridescent fishnet
stockings (which belie his stolen businessman's suit). he is telling
faeries' beautiful tales. (they know better but believe anyway.) he
writing physiqs equations in the air. for the cops to breathe (like
and thirds of (drive-in
rain on the foamrubber
snails continue tedious hejiras
towards saturn, crawling through
inch by inch. passing
and feelings old dead priests
a seraph-man skeletons hands
scarlet demons clouds waters
like a troupe of silver dancers winds
a dust of emerald
poured in your ears.
concern ourselves with earth for a minute.
dope dealer's booby trap worked: FLOWRs made of entropy and
antimatter eating through the cops' insomnia 'til sunrise. They have
accidentally overdosed on unreasonable beliefs. Crayola-colored crows
in the distance. They know. They whisper in the blank space newspapers
afford them. Earth hears them.
the faeries believe them.