tambourine

the fish are all swimming in black oil cocktails
with simple set silver of taught fleshy evenings
and does it make sense when he fires up the engine
24 hours on 16 ounce gasoline
hungry and underweight

over the canopy
broken and tarnished beneath these torn fingernails
worked until blistering
fond of the afterglow
mended with dramamine
all over your oranges

five hundred burlap bags from a harvest
peeling away at their stitches and corners
everything bending and tumbling out between
the fruit and the feelings
all tangled together
bubbling and velvety

poison and paradise
just hiding everything that noone's believed
for eight million centuries
tricked by a pretty song
fell down and holding me
soft clouds and velveteen
covered up outside
by fog of a dream machine
bleeding through empty time

end up believing it