oberon mistaken for a girl,
his face tickling my heel
(toe heater, clean pours)
closed wrist eaten away

as it was by sea salt and
the alarm doing its duty,
i guess it's the hyperopia
i guess that he
must not have noticed
the patient puzzle.

though it's always impulsive:
saturday night's affair,
so deeply disturbing that
you could crawl to get the fuck out
cause the rubber is wearing thin.

underneath the screen
mutations malfunction,
and the mass meeting
begets pain outwardly.

this was the time when
your skin was fresh --
demise comes slowly in
old dusty mirrors.

it's no accident,
the songs telling you to run
smoking four cigarettes in a row,
the plastic growing thick
only numerous clocks knowing
the exact second of escape.

form follows function
like gravity counting
backwards from a hundred,
kinda predictable really:

making rebellion in front of
the hostile city honeys, i.e.
union of space&liquor
focusing on the individual actor,

raises the drink to lower his standards.
gonna do this to
do this
to hurt him real bad.

wish i could've been there.
wish i could've seen that.
wish you could really get
what you want but,
sorrow melts
into clear peace
a quite mind
is soon established.