we're coming undone.

the cigarette butts have something to say.
i hear them.  telepathically, you know.  figuratively.
you know how it goes.  tired mouths chew tips.  lip bottoms.
leave gloss.  black raspberry, it seems.  all froth and hesitant kisses.
and do you hear that girl?  she is mumbling.  something about eastern star
residue.  two dollars.  a sleeping bag.  no sleep.  views of texas from a train.  corpus
christie on her back.  she is all jumbles, tangled hair, knots, sea salt in summer.  dream bred
cluster fuck and this camel right here, he knows her.  oh yes.  he knows her.  fat lipped mother.  he
tasted her full flavor.  he tasted.  flattened the tangerine honey-dewed baby against his roof.  spat.  and the
sound is a chorus, a slow trickling river of oohhing and aahhing and 'spread them hips wider, deeper.'  into
pavement.  under asphalt.  around the moon.  galaxies were created in and between your kneecaps.  you
know how it goes, girl.  you know.  there is an alley next to mill st. & main where soft-lipped men,
mad-lipped men love little girls.  spout prophecies and rhetoric.  move hands under dress tails.
feel.  feel.  feel.  you feel me, don't you?  in your city it's whatever street & main.
but they're all mumbling.  something about sleeplessness & an eclipse in '78.
the babies who were born afterwards.  no eyelids.  but vision.  goddamn,
what vision.  the whispers are ants climbing dentyne wads, consuming.
i hear them telepathically, you know.  figuratively.
the cigarette butts have something to say.

we're coming undone.