This is for when the slats of the night slam shut on you For when the radio is broken

and crackles like uranium orchids

For when the foehn-wind rattles the telephone wires like a handful of bones
And for when dream ambulances skitter through the streets at midnight
In the amusement arcade a sailor whose muscles writhe with tattoos and
pornography, doubled up, his vomiting emeralds
Elsewhere, a black man with brass teeth and a swallow skin tie is laughing and
laughing and offering poisoned candy floss to the children
This is for when your cuff gets caught in the cogs of an urban evening
For when your vision is frayed and you don't have anymore lust
This is for the wasp-woman
This is for the torturer's wives with their thumbs blue as billiard chalk
This is for all the mathematicians who got mixed up in the dream gang
This is for when you get caught in a sleep-riot
This is for when your jism turns to platinium
For when the television is full of murder
For when the sky is out of order
For when your room is crawling with cheap poetry
This is for when your veins are singing with indigo
For when the radiator is full of fever
For when your sex is full of voodoo
For when your clothes are imaginary
For when your kitchen is dead
This is for when your flesh creeps and never comes back