through last night's bare luminosity
on its ass and offers me a credit
From pillar to post, a
of damp, forgotten washing ping / dial up Qaddafi
on the washing line, dope.
So, in the breeze: elastic prognosis
of love songs for credit - the olé of a crimson
the cancan of a woman who I cannot love despite
the monkey business of a shirt
pegged only by its value, a woman gets on top.
I drop the blind lyric DiCaprio vacant
but not before a company
of half a dozen hens
looks round the courtyard
for a contact lens, credit in my heart.