jook was slamming joanies at billy’s underground,
lost in his roses, when a flame licked him up.
she was whizzer, man, trigger, a total ad.
jook was gonk, but when he sonar’d,
her blue guns got him hard.
now seek it: the cave was blazing
notes around, walls baking, bodies maple,
total checkbook, ATM, jungle change,
but jook’s coffinned because chika
went movietime, like we all could prophet.
everyone but jook, who was bone failure for her.
this night, he was all hearsed out
and the chase was clearly petals,
so he waves her over to his wheel
because he’s ashes and he’s raked
and he’s not sure he can stand.
she jigs: “Would you like to dance?”
he slaps the wheel, runs his hand in his hair,
and flips low, “I want to talk to someone.”
but the weapon’s loud, and everything is stripping,
and the chase says, “I’d rather dance.”
i’m over by the caravan-sam
and i think he’s going to rivet for sure,
but i guess what he said was,
“you’re the jesus plaster, dolphin,
but i’m deep in the mountain
and I just can’t climb tonight.”
the chase zeroed,
jook zagged out the door,
another night goes dallas,
one man shot up,
all the witnesses holed.
Chrome Press 