This is the sinker,
watch it dance.
For a split, second-studded hour,
reports flow into filthy sinks to the
brim with steaming sanctions.
Think now on possible secrets
longing for the secure cover of
I listen in on three stories
of circus ring ghosts
who leave half-asked questions
for those who won't be
bothered with petty prophecies.
But murders splattered glass
into fixed young eyes for
countless evening words.
Mirages come creep, creeping
closer to the edge of tightened
rainbow yarn and fall backward
against walls of strawberry-
blonde strands, wrapped 'round
post war stories. Stop the heart
before its legs bleed dry.
The final flight rushes me toward
picket fences with welcome signs.
They read backward as they shoot
me for the stars, even though
Hollywood rejects matter like me.
I break through the barrier just in time
for the morning alarm.
Now you're hooked.