It’s beautiful to stay up all night,
something brightening through
the image of the ceiling lamp
upon the window. Bluest heart
of burning brush, best not get
too close, blue is always the
hottest. Adjust laptop to best
angle. Nothing’s perfect, but
the halo over your serious
look seems like the right
size. Drink it with a glass
of water after double-clicking
the public folder. Right up the
ass is the best place to insert
the golden flames that shoot
from your tongue. Or so you
do tease. Drink more water
with your cookie, pumpkin.
Such cookie as I’ve never
tasted, and won’t yet tonight,
as fantasy reaches only so
far. Stack my heart on a
dozen trumpets bent and
twisted to hell and back to
form a kind of brass barricade,
something the internet can’t
resemble, but—like this junk-
heap—hot with Gabriel’s
throbbing tongue, a reveille
and taps blown into one.
