I’ll tell ya
it’s not iguanas with bombs in their tails that crawl
it’s the lost work on a comp that’ll kill
ya, and their influx, damn people.
I ask what we want to drink, same round again;
some guy wears pants made of black paint
which makes me laugh at my own,
the night was met by two of us.
Bleach on a film set
gods made of skin
kilns laid back in leather
loose in time.
Dressed in fire.