Man Is A Bird Full Of Mud,

I Am A Collection Of Dismantled Almosts.

I Was Spread Out Dailyand Examined For Flaws.

The Day Of Fire Is Coming, The Thrush Will Fly Ablaze Like A Little Sky Rocket.

Stop The Darkness And Its Amputations And Find The Real Mccoy In The Private Holiness Of My Hands.

Do You Like Me?” No Answer. Silence Bounced, Fell Off His Tongue And Sat Between Us And Clogged My Throat. It Slaughtered My Trust. It Tore Cigarettes Out Of My Mouth. We Exchanged Blind Words, And I Did Not Cry, I Did Not Beg, But Blackness Filled My Ears, Blackness Lunged In My Heart, And Something That Had Been Good, A Sort Of Kindly Oxygen, Turned Into A Gas Oven.