Gravestones make the best surface to tap dance on,
You with uncommonly hard shoes to trample graves.
Keeps them from rising from the dead.
I’ve been signaling with this compact mirror
From my cloister in the hills, but only albino crows
Come to my rescue, and I must eat what they bring up.
Night crawlers in the gutter after a rain – you
Can see the shit moving through them.
The ice cream truck with teens from the ballet
School running up in their black tutus.
They were practicing graceful falling,
Now they light cigarettes and lick novelties.
I was thinking of kidnapping them to the cemetery.
I have got my gun that shoots a “BANG!” flag.
But if things don’t work out, they can get there on their own.
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