“Time to Fit into These Rags Anymore”
The dead side of a spaceship
which landed on our lawn some years ago
a lonely wind to make us stay
through grass blades
and sways this sash
a lie and wunderkind to find,
lingerie and wine
and trails the drapes to soda ash
the footsteps disappear
we ask for backstage passes
and secret tissues, the twilight manacled
to roller skate blindfolded
the flaming hog’s body
we were girlfriends again
all in our ghost bodies,
missing patches of hair,
scars interwoven
the deserter’s cane
blew diamonds across the desert
and all falls the secret knowledge
triumphant in the rain
of sad rosaries warped by presents
and so you flew away
never wanting to wake again
the gladiolas, the burnt persimmon, precious as blood carriages
carrying the harvested bodies
from the spacecraft,
this dimension betwixt others
or a thousandfold strained violence
birds carry away throats,
leather gloves turn to silver gloves
and velvet glove believers
sheds in this nightmare town
where every steeple sits ready to slash,
and all neighbors wait
glaring at their microphones,
the cold inner suns reflecting
the glint of gold teeth,
marmalade infested with insects
who want your name in blood
roads the infernal travelled down
tied rosy pillows to the pink of unhealthy pale horses,
and whose tail pinned you too:
that all changed
nobody knows anymore
and all the rest moved away.
nicholauspatnaude 
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