(the rest of the title is : The Unicorns and Barflys are Alive and Miles Away (I wish you could see it from the coast) )

I am the digital man, bags packed
stick to stone, ticks and moans, I am ready

The feet come first, in the inversed tower
like a cat in a bag, I'd swivel around toes
Through the open door (once ajar)
I am welcomed to a land of severed thighs but not ripe with bleeding
More like a trapeze : dangling, abrasive
The blood is more possible from my end of the lethargy

Unicorns roam free here, away from catastrophe and windows
This tower was built about a week ago, from inside a car

Back at the base, I've climbed to the shins
Shivering with slender silence
It is beautiful to see such a thing amongst myth

Chapter two entails the aforementioned thighs, not metaphorically bleeding
Closer to a coma brought on by infidelity.
Pant. Gasp. Dart.
This is ideal debauchery like it was years ago in chambers locked and bald.

C) Waist and torso and pubics are recapitulated here. Reconstructed around my arms
like a guitar golem, with harped harmonics. I'd cum if I were you

IV - A stomach wrenches like gears for attention. Perfection was lost along with my entrance. I'll cast stones and iron around the perimeter. It feels naughty to be alone and wrong in this place, but I am not one to complain.

Rearrange

The fifth stanza acts a lot like a tangent. Your arms and hands whisk apples past my tired and taught body. You smell like a breeze coming from the shores of a mechanical dream. Just like how I pictured. Now only if my wife would agree

Your chest (sixth from the top) pumps ideas into my head. Can anyone say "disaster" while holding their mouth shut?
It is the size of magic on the cusp of my finger. I could kiss the back of my neck if you told me to.

The neck and seventh vertebrae are important to this procedure because they hold your mystery. You may be fiction now, but soon the ventricle sneak will take effect. It sounds a lot like flesh soldering but it has become less tacky in the past few years. My dear lifeboat let us sail away into a bar, or an equally hospitable fuck parlor.

Finally, sister Octavia, you've coughed down my sleeve and into my palm at the top of this tower. Babylon binds us beside my blasphemy. But that is ok. I'd take an apple core from you, rather than a monument from them.

On the roof, I see a land. As profound as they mentioned, but I am too tired to care.