for the sake of the bodies

Shying away, the rustle of the curtains justifies its presence

on the wardrobe, their body – diluted carcass – thrusts upwards

waving a placard that reads ‘as long as you care…’

The cracks in the ground are a lively moss fur covering

serenading the lunatic that bays at Smith St like a heroin wolf.

Too and fro the hipsters play pretend dress ups only

forgetting which of them invented the game in the first place

in the space between crawling serendipity and the winged creatures

of chubby features whose blood they drink.  

The noise of that damn wind through the window, breathing on the neck,

she invites chastity and relates the role of the open orifice as derivative

of the breeze it allows in, ‘cannot have a window without wind’

read the small print of the banner.  Scanning hard, too hard for this material.