She has a swimming pool full of kerosene in her mouth
Where the children float on their rubber ducks
As she drinks powdered glass
From wine bottles and fish bowls
And exhales ashes through her nose.
Hair like a chameleon's feathers
Teeth like a zipper
She'll swallow them all
Fingernails on every wall
Of the big red house
With smoke coming out the chimney
But it isn't wood that they're burning
He likes to stand in the middle of the highway in the dead of night
With his garden shears held high
When Sunday morning comes
He'll stick the blades in his mouth
And cut out all the lies
Blood drenched pajamas
It fell onto the pavement like a fat, dead slug.
And he looked to the skies
With red trickling down his chin
As it rained stones and glass eyes
The stars are all wrong
Kerosene and garden shears
The children slept inside cocoons
But the butterflies all died
Leave a sign
Bovine eyes reflect headlights, but his mouth is a crimson faucet
He screams fluid
Red smeared on grey
Mechanical squeal
Red rain
We aren't clockwork
Clocks aren't right
It all burns
Yellow bones
The black telephone screamed
She answered with razors on her breath
He's in pieces on the side of the Interstate
Feeding the crows
She only laughs
Laughter like coughing
Like choking on smoke
Red on her lips
Bleeding from the mouth
Immaculate kitchen tiles
Spattered dark
Blood boils into a vapor
The phone operator likes the smell
Powdered glass
Shears
She has a swimming pool full of kerosene
Burning and drowning
Crucified cattle scream in plagued voices
And every ear listens and bleeds
Ashes, ashes
They all fall down
Through the black mist
Insects clinging to the insides of their unhinged mouths
Nesting in their tongues
Larvae
They fly
Without wings
Plunging
Toward nothing
Down
Fall
All