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• Artiste: Meanwhile, Back in Communist Russia...
• Titre: Chinese Lanterns
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Suspended, fragile from the threads, every depth they can't fathom. Still dressed in cast-offs, I could be china. Sometimes I burn within air, but then they're always as far as a shrinking back, Down amongst teacups and warm palms, amongst all these familiar things, I could hold tight and wait for gravity to return. Heat grows more tropical and makes me restless. Just one more cigarette before Caught between the rush of tide, blood bright; It floods out every other word or fraud. Consumes my elixir, my poison. Burnt blood but blowing through as transparent as a lantern, I take the smallest gestures to draw blood, But I'm safe for this half hour.