you paint your own tv on the wallncarve out insects to feed us allnlights ash by and the fast world echoes your thoughtsnnyour compass led you to the edge of a lakenyou’ll singe your nuts down there if you takensuch bad advice from the love gods of hatenyou’ll get coldnnyou get burned, you get coldnnon the plush green rug in the lime green lightneyes like white stones in black lightni promise you everything that you likenni go “mississippi kite”nngloss assails us then dimsncomic book nights, la grimnthe hollywood martians, lucky stiffs, fucking winnnyou told me enough times you can’t give me enough ropento hang myself one time, but I can always hopenyou come down on me so hard that I choke and gonnyou get burned, you get coldnnmeanwhile, I feed you boric acid and airnlemon drops, snow cream, speckled eggsnthe sweat seeps in through a crack in your headnnyou go “mississippi kite”