* * * *
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