Over are the bills! And who can make a living these

For an underground newspaper—the burnt out ends

Climbing higher and higher until the batteries

Empty bottles on the soles of our moccasins

In the studio of the hurricane, eating goat

Reason why a vampire licks his plate clean to

Your note book I say the famous surgeon wrote

Barn, eating dormice and their wheatgrass nests, while you

Slippers for a dormouse born with a wooden

In his dreams like eggs crashing down on a wooden

Autumn. The naked and the poor eating away

Temples with a secret added ingredient;

Poor are a uterus that will birth an ancient

A new body that begins at the ankle. Say