the y

The Strange Case of the Missing Tequila.


your 2 bars of soap made of pizza
your 12 camels
your hair made of salt
your windows made of salt
every princess in Mexico
every moon
every flower
your floorboards made of burnt toast

the cologne cathedral inside your chest
gothic blues jazz-strobe
the fall-down-hole in the desert with its' desolate light-bulbs
from which I will one day escape and now i certainly have
your head rolled out is the horizon
red-carpet toe-nails and mournful buttons precede you
your feet walk along next to you
a black frying-pan so heavy it takes five men to lift it

then they carry it around the fairground in a tribal stomp
on the pan rests the haunches of a motionless donkey


x




x