At the cyclical serpent's recycled trinketbound spirals,
privileged legions on bent knee decline weepy sentimantle mentalpieces;
ashtray garterbelts suffocate a Champion nude descending a staircase,
all before the luxurious parking lots of Vienna's cleft eyes.

She stares above her eyelids, past her dawn's wired violence,
at dusk's shuffled violions into the dimpled cage's month,
and the secret wonder is revealed with a nudging wink.

The hot succulent drawl of cabbagepatch magazines destroyed in the hall,
burying their luggage children in plots, are blessing the deafman's blues
with a keychain at midnight's drum circles' chant, prostitute drainpipes
fire the garbage disposal, devouring wasted remains, their iconoclast canes,
hearing to the widowed firefighter sent to sea at the digested green war.

Lying for lovers of laying beside each other's trials;
inviting in a yawn, the careless hymns sandbox children vacantly scribe:
and the afternoon doctor, she's emptied of her medicine cabinet palaces,
knowing she's for tomorrow gearing Colombia, towards Vienna's frying pan arms.

No, her whisked lips aren't taking their toll on my curtain stations,
and the sighs she hears from the sky's migraines aren't barbaric whispers;
(yes I can stand eating sloshes of cobbledbroadways another night);
for the hearthheads of unpublished bard's manuscript virtues
chasing up a fifth knot's drowsy wench,
are floppy electric charges at the thorns of a hooker's sinking mouth,
know you I, know you I, as danger nudges our fingers onwards,
blasting beyond the ballroom brothel's bordered bathroom stalls,
will never tire--always awake: preservers of destroyed cloudscrapers.

Starampartflanked skies riddle in thimble quilts, her Magnesian ovaries,
rarely roving, the roaring: an ovation's dividend to quit;
I can't through yesterday swim the grim bearer of explicit news,
delivering to her eyes all the confusion of an unmedicated riveria;
the hero is in Vienna's mascara, jumping ship to make bones of laughter,
and make laughing ships out of jumped bones.

Lechered and lacquered sneezing ceilings that peel away 4AM's damp steam,
are gaping from the chapel head of a grappled mule,
gnawing on the lugged bombs of salvation Vienna grafts in my thighs:
Modesty cloaks herself in candle and charm, asleep for the night,
and my fleshyawning circled eyes, are destroyed, in Vienna's hallway croon.