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by Alexej Andreyovic

she stumbled through a wooden chest...played hop-scotch near the band stand and spilled a top hat on her shirt sleeve...with a licorice tattoo and a home in east berlin, she's got a dozen hungry flower beds, filled up with gumboot straws, and a nickel-sheet bed sits beside a stranger’s dog...she's got three pairs of passports from places i've never heard of, she's got ropes hanging from her ceiling and a drum of rain by the windowsill, breathing...arch your back and bite yer lip, take my blood and make it stir...her hair spilled out like root beer, her eyes looked like lemonade. with a snarl and a blown kiss she could pull a dead man from his grave; gettem harder than chinese algebra, make his dreams kindle flames, but nothing could ever feel as good as getting out of burma safe. the moon looked like a skeleton parade, the cat sleeps in the mail box at noon, the cherry trees are running wild from a twisted lamp and a crooked spoon. alligator skin is tempting but i think i'll try the kale, make a waterphone from melted cheese and a glass of ginger ale. there’s a compass on her forehead, pointing somewhere i cannot see, and a sailboat of broken bicycles piled up beside a puddle full of stars...i beg your pardon dear...