Hell painted with a dog spoon

four metallic pups and years, pass by
and the roof-tops crawl below the snow
and the street wakes, hail, and the fire
fire in the colour of a cheap blacksmith, yet
you slam away with what you’re given to

and of those pups, the wolves are on fire
and they howl to mate with space
blacker than the reddest parts of fleshy stars
repeating maniacs in all suns, although
mars comes down with a slice of life in its teeth

nearly all the dunes have burnt, and
nearly all the spirit has caught fire
yet, along by the ridge of smiling waterfalls
in the darkness where we dress
you send me back a smile

we’ve been through the gutter of life
both of our nights tearing away the day
so i say nothing, as you dance in the morning
& you’re a coma made from heat
both of our songs made from howls

i make sure that my sneer is a smile
lit by the depths of our morning grace
outside the train gently shaking my guts
which cloaks the fumes in the street
and tears me away from chaos

i paint where dogs do
years on
in a poem built from paint
our eyes watching the exchanging stars inside the rain
hearing the same swearing owls at 5am

i wonder, strange things
did you ever fit into that night, like that dress
how the rain sounds like so many dogs

tapping around on the roof
licking the ceiling when i blow out smoke
pirouetting with obscene blunders in the wind
in hell’s heaven

calling for the lightening
as those dogs come too
mating with felidae
in silence


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