folded fullmoon

just looking at the roof –

he will draw yet another telephone.

our tongues are maple syrup now

or unripe pineapple.

I think I should smoke,

domesticate

a brown pelican.

white paint is medicine

but locomotive wind
it changed our song.
she is cheap motel moments,

a makeshift engine

to drain your lover completely.

people studied your poster

by faint candlelight;

that was before I burned them;

news headlines peeling,

though black & white TV

or doctored film,

at a terminal

the colour of god's hair
you must be so hungry.