I'll be a body in the rain:
blanching at three successive pages
of champagne pink scrawls.

A body blushing in the rain:
a massive-sweet decay
a cardboard cutout that smells just like

the arbitrary bloom
which makes you stumble full
and take your meals in crumbling
chunks of pavement;

and you've no need for
teeth, and you've no need
for hair--- they're being purified
in sacrificial wine

and you've no need for eyes---
for crimson ears and thighs;
the rest is cured with plastic,
collecting the puddles as they

sung are eucalyptus liturgies for the
massive-sweet decay,
for the tranquil-floating orifice in
the rain.


A tattoo that reads in threes, like:

varekai's a gypsy word but it
sticks well 'tween the gums