* * * *

it was cruel the way you dove

into my arteries, those rivers of red mud

which propel strange men in wet droves

like hustlers to my heart drinking a flood

* * *

where men thirst i bleed

like a torn lampshade in an operating room

where the light is not brilliant but it’s something you need

el dorado is my name and my eye’s a tomb

* *

can you find me?

does the length of my corridor entice?

nazi boots blacken my body

as we all dance the dance of the well-to-do on black ice

*