S H U N T

perfect slalom
through vintage track hiss
these lights gleam bright
like halos
like second sight
and you let the belt slip through
your lacquer
the thin mouth open feeding
the stream
a scream of cooked purity
I can fly as I slip away
so easy how heaven
can ease to hell

bent over with smudged glasses
bad teeth
your spine like a worn range of
mountians
like a sadness in the spring thaw

your lean strength on those arms
you can clamp me off with a thumb
so hard
nickel babe
your all mine

how you hover like a busted angel
in our tinsel light
your dirty hands through my greasy
mane