i know all the fucking secrets

the poor down the dirt road

are running out of wood again

they are hoping for an early spring

it’s cold today it never freezes in the

how cold is it

cold as a witch’s tit

mother’s arthritic hands

moved like bats and

their skeletal shadows as soon

as the sun went bondage

down and the solar winds

could use just a little bit

of pine trees and we all

turned into wild blueberries

we slept

that night in the wild

blueberries there is one

that will stay with me

while i can still grasp

at the old memories

jesus fucking christ

let’s talk physics

let’s talk our very

own looking up as

the witch’s crows fly

by and a whole lot

faster than a kitchen

ghost puts together

a black hole in a frying

pan so how hot did it

get hot enough to freeze

a martini hard as a

rock in a bag of cats it

never freezes in new orleans