yr lips are like diamonds
they shake in the street
the panther prowls
green-eyed glowing
marijuana scud missiles
in the wake skin night

prayer amidst the mantises
issues forth sideways
ministry of a gasp
hollow navel moons
through which the skin erupts
like mini-skirt belches of gyspy harps

inch forth little vacant one
lose yr mind as trains moan
far off in the distance
there where stop signs
mean no eyes
and love is scarce

-- 7-18-07, IL