In the season of drunken witches
I burn inside the bottle
Scorched by an overture of anesthesia

I pick wallpaper flowers on famine day
Rainbow zebras carry blind kings
and the meek are dragged away

Locked behind an open door
I swallowed her apple core
While she spit out my seeds
The breakfast of vultures and cherry surrender
Will she taste me with the mouth of thieves?

Lead the cats into the river
Mermaids pickle the sea
I sink into invisible spaces
Bathing in her vacancy

She is coy
She is contagious
Antiquated virgin oasis

All her x-rays are naked

Her image develops malignancy
And i am not a witch doctor.


Troy Allen Bull 3.00