Gas Gun City

A city made from music and gas
-a humor of golden mass in the boiler room
phosphoric eyes launching up; heroes come slower now, fearful, decadent
as if engorged by war for too long changed
within the soil looking up from the street with malleable bones
like antennae sending up endless prayers expressing nothing
if not heard

a city, a dome, a cannibal’s breast leans slowly against the wall
eating freely from a passing rebuttal
a glance in the ride
and the world followed will and the earth gladly sipped spirit

cooks cooking better asleep, poems, gas, meat, hunger
locked in horns knowing they’re the wrong type of poem
free to do whatever
whatever they wish for dream jinn shadow mass
of gropes below the engine deck
organic lit organs slick the coal fire

even the energy of old worms have sense
and the concrete knows the distance from where they have come from the earth-helping them back, by natural pull, or passerby before the parade comes
and the hooligans still have rage and bayonet colliding inside faces like metered bodies unable to learn dance helixing around you and their song- neither taking or meaning anything to our own

the west-coast train leaves the power station to my right opening its three pounding mouths to the quiet drone of the fog and sky a sandwich and a coach full of drunks -communing -inside -memory and hail
hits the window solidifying rapid water cocktail

nearing a station and a familiar field’s office
and the sun plumes with rain upwards
letting your face know she only jokes
when her tongue radiates later on and when our body finally breaks

soaking the last dust
and there is a home within scent
calling out to everything else
calling it
a liar.


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