forget for a moment:

feels like New Orleans;
opaque-custard teeth
grate the rising sidewalk

the dew clings not
but sits obesely
upon each green folded blade
each platform petal,
and each gaping mailbox
oozes ink like phlegm.

the trees laugh
lush ladies in a bath
tossing emeralds with
the wind for an orchestra.

wet, black rubber.

and you were in the kitchen
(like a block of stale chocolate)
eating pale grapes and
drinking turpentine.