You really embody trance acquisition
no sex in French sun
asking for frequencies of bears at the campfire
eating eggs in a high chair as your fossils slip.
We leave long to signify big winter breasts
a warming of loneliness the skeleton sweater
aproned in blades. A man named Thane follows
and swallows our wants
sending commands through rubber arm bands
the done done done done of the Mozart effect.
The phones lick as you sleep in the snowglobe
the spider beside you
draining your ghosts blood-thick as ketchup.
The crows bring dogtags our switchboard-blank wrangle
shoulder pads, landslides your made-up baby.
Six of our ribs roast in the boneyard
prove sometimes endtimes
are larger than big eyes and not so religious.
Sometimes, endtimes are teen girls who disfigure