This Machine

We described each other with invisible bodies of imagination,
Lying down 3 hours a rhythmic beating
A good solemn witchcraft by ourselves – sounds good
Off to bed still like my guardian angel –
Too Late! She said. The damage has been done
Like a broken doll describing her features touching her smooth
Porcelain face – hard/cold nothing could touch.

The heavy not-so-glorious-now clouds my horizons,
Wet grass smells like shampoo, newly washed hair,
The glorious monument to our bodies – To Drink!
All artistic radio and the small microscopic antennae of the masses –
The mesmerising backsteps of anxious children,

Sing into a lightbulb the light comes from my mouth,
Heavy rain grazes the garden

Fades away a leaf floats in black puddle.
This machine kills

Kills you all,
You shouldn't be talkin' to me, I make you drunk,

Buy your own kitten – I will and I'll name him
Mikey.

I should stop drinking – you think?
I said what do kittens drink?

Milk.

I want one,

She said they're horrible,
I'm a kitten in disguise.
The warm cake smell of thunder bars my mortality,
I am Immortal!

For as long as I can remember,
I see brown misted pools winked exhausted
Breathless shattering the heavens about possibilities of beating God.
If I humped my physical gait to the highest light-surpassed
Mountain I would let the hard-nothing hard-summer
Half-light and unreal diamond my un-immortal mists of imagined life;

More real than the never-silent background, always like cranes.

Sunlight! As if someone is waking up,

And shade as if someone is tired

And this tarmac, crossroad black sky mixed light so

Frighteningly different,
Electric as my body –
Purple pink black – the sky changes,
And we are all in the sky, mourning the lost sexual
Angels, taking the world by the hand.