in the land of distraction,
there are voices in the hallway,
those of silver cats and lacerations.
a French song,
a cave collapsing,
just as six years
creep in and seethe.
her black tank top
may be the sexiest thing
in the wide world
to sit next to me,
but it barks by 2011.
I like it when
my world smells
of chimneys
and meat.
believe in love,
just as I believe
in décolletage
on a Friday.