Let my tight cables
Down in The Underground
Toast the night with ice-water and Tylox.
It's the early '90's.
I feel my springs unwinding;
So exceedingly so --
Like antique luggage
I'm stretching below time
Within the confines of my own skin-case,
My own bones, eager to escape the chicken-fat-
-like test-tubes that hold them back
Before day one is done.
I'm under the Underground.
I'm one of them.
I see my blue wiring beneath my skin,
Making way from the stretched skin beneath the handstamp
Up my wrist, past tubes
Where it disappears
In a fast dance of its own.
I danced
I danced at will
Earnestly, honestly, passionately,
And terribly,
All awash in skinny sweat.
To believe is to conclude
And I conclude I danced below the space below the night.
I conclude that I screamed like an alpha-Crow with my muscle-mass,
I bet I even terrified my skin
And wailed from beneath my bones
Within the whole
Of my hot body.
I smoke up the big window
Where the cover is charged
And handed over
In favor
Of another
Inkish handstamp.
I'm losing my hot mist.
I know the salt stays put.
I bet it's way past two.
I think I'll throw up.
.
.
