iam alone with my electricity (2.a)

smoke: soft kiss saucers machine: green for even tantric

curious rats in the flying jazz: an idea in coffee limbs wider discarded
proletarian torn of cacophonous before the city walls dried,
mid-sigh

grown accustomed, thick and oily to monotony is somehow days
led to sleep: your wet tongue, the room as
i carnation, the poetry of floating, of glowing
empire's important now aroused by the purple triangle

invading species of five divine, shining brunettes
to photograph faraway breasts, bellicose years and grey tricklings