Gas.
Pipe burst
Like a frog's throat.

Indulge me:
Each bottle
Liquor, wine, champagne
Has the dust of ten years
Two plausible syllables
Nothing new made of mercury
The cracks hide the dead.

Titles repeated
(Because there is little else to do
Than pretend you're senile).
Lie on the floor in
Fever.

Think of those years
From when you were too short
To see out the eye-hole,
Stoves on and
Burning away the winter,
To now.

And all this time
Your skeletons were missing.

Found tangled
In the pipes
Necks wheezing gasoline
Full of holes.