Like hair, spit, like hallmarks
Sleep, combining death and tourism
as furniture discloses itself
Undressing now, like an apprentice
matador as distance equals time in flames.
We're both naked. Drinking like a house on fire.
I had never slept in a bed before.
Grasping knowledge from chairscapes
all too new and sudden were sheets.
Now you are naked and I have been here
before. This skin is rust and a phrenological
map of rooms in myself, into the lining of my coat.
The white handkerchief stuck in my throat.
Pirate ship with a broken mast bending space
and forgotten words coming from somewhere
else meaning absolutely everything.
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