vases
called strange ONSALE
smudged
feet and dirty
ankles stomp
on cowbells, pushing higher
mussing rugs, fugs
the light's out, we
smoked
a while
ago but
your jacket
suits you, and you, and
i's, the
corner souls
crept out to
touch, behind the banisters
stepping over ibanez
and his
offspring, the
motherfucking
holy roller
brown stagnant's beside
the bed, this
whole city
wails
but won't fucking quit
it gutter
reeks, and the soul trots
three paces to the
left, in tandem, i
thought
we passed this rubbish
and left you
down
stairs
you can join the white, out with
the bins;
our negro
brothers
push
hard and keep
cool
