Everywhere splatters of preening self,

orange and yellow,

covered in gorgeous tears.

Paste my back together.

Donate your time.

Donate my spine.

I play with Saturday night sound.

I can’t bite my nails.

They are embedded somewhere else.

In my peccancy,

I frequently forget

the great video camera in the opaline sky.

Wry rivulets

rescue me from a righteous thirst.

Parched.

Parchment.

The alien writing in a familiar language

I can’t speak.

My ego strokes Me.

Clotting,

the road of glad tidings

bottlenecked by a beer.

Piss flavored social gold.

Watch the game.

Bats never lose to the fruit.

Night never escapes,

Can’t slip away.

My slip,

my nipples thrilled by silk.