Do you want to
dance or are you just haunting me
with your high heels?
I don't actually say it.
I am smeared and distempered,
on an evil bevel riding the smooth gelatin
of loneliness like a limerick
with a jaunt in its sadness.
The closer I get to the stationmaster
the more I know that death wants me
to plunk a token down.
Even riding public transportation
nothing is for free.
A coffin is priced according to its grain
and my high hopes of buying
through the eye of a needle.
Something as beautiful
as suicide on snow
If it were not the real muck and stink
That death exhales,
Or could it be the radiance of your blue eyes
over the beach
when I don't see you cheating
with the other bathers.
The surface under the surface
is filled with lobster
And yet they are delicious still
if they don't bite.
So much is spectacular that I forget
the hired killers in the poodle parlor
from their grand bouffant haircuts.