and who does is the one i want to kiss on the lips

when it must be love. because love has to do with the skin

affecting color. it’s suddenly the northern lights and this time

it shines on the glass beads, each bead reflecting my love

for that which is elusive; almost time to change the fuel again,

thus once again i am at a truck stop – hoping to catch my dreams

back, the best ones i keep forgetting, sometimes chanting helps

especially when it is apparent to northern lights that those lizard skin

should not be taken for love. then the ghoul wrenched herself free – it did

taste like lizard lips, tried to spit out piss. it only got worse when i found

no woman in hell ever stole from glass beads locked within a treasure box.

each prayer comes to life, each prayer is heard in a glass bead hall, taken

to be heaven’s ears: this is my most cherished sacrifice, take this and she

braided her hair, snapped it away. locked her memories to the bottomless

river just a mile from home. home is set on fire, fire blazing like fires licking out

from the new stranger whose lips i found. it is not going to be like the last time,

the yellow fever must have hit my core, the core is rebuilding, new bricks on top

of absent ones; already cemented into the treasured box hidden inside one prayer.

don’t dreams leak out? ever? the midnight is here, it is calling in her sweetest of voice,

dance, dance till the merriment in that soul blinks, shuts out the light too bright

and even then the soul still wants to breathe. eat, drink, be merry with a spin the tale,

one soul forever having to sit on her lap, she is giving the cool aid once again, did not flinch

when i realized it was forced feeding. more of it thundered the angry shadows i could see

as lips bit cruelly down. not blood. memories of a life chasing shit, the beads have all but

turned to dust, that is what happens when. when the self talk turns to a chant, a chant, a prayer

inside out, like gut spilling wrenching shit finally blasted into that white earth still trying to

make sense of why i had chosen a stranger’s lip and left those eyes. like heaven spitting back at me.

for leaving heaven. and the promise land was the fine dust; still blowing inside my eyes, still unable

to completely break free – her spell is strong, she is steadfast, she is serpentine, she is the lost knowledge,

she had become a reflection of me. and there is the braided hair still locked within my fist, i tried to tell her

that dreams can come true. see cried a river of blood into my chest, i tore away again, refusing to believe

that a lizard lay inside her stomach. it is growing, then becomes her with fangs and all. it just wasn’t time yet.

to slay the mocking man whose back is turned to the booby trap. it is all the absence of dust understanding

why a clay is shaped and made. and the shit eating grin i saw staring upon me was yellow. he was the sun

whose many fire rest in memories come back to life. it was the best ones, it was the glass bead ones.