You lifted this rock for grubs and scorpions,
the desert melting on us, our minds folding like fans.
Catch sight of our swampy choked love, so real!
And the muck below, holding God knows what, eh?
God's casserole, eh?
It's thick like too much chocolate powder in one's milk,
which isn't ALL bad,
and pops out dry when you wait, tipping glass.
So, I left you at your house, then,
where we'd flown our peace dove flags,
and made our salutes and cheers,
and signed our little treaties.
And you sprint inside a beer bottle,
while I can't help clocking your time.
I like how we go skipping across broken records,
one angel dangling from another.
