Kerosene lungs;
collapsing, when I see
avalon forests-wild hares,
nocturnal creatures,
with glass stares,
the stars that slept through the never,
ever again. Through your kiss-dull cloud drums,
beating as the scent of hasch fills the air.
Heyo, heyo-from the indians, where dry, crackling
leaves are burnt, cracking on my
chest. The lungs that smashed, with brittle
broken glass-smoke from kerosene lungs, in this rainroom now.
For drinking these dark victorian mirrors again. And always,
you-always me, what will never be, in this rainroom now-
paintings in oil, of what is happening, while the rain falls down
on Kerosene lungs.