Soy, Muy Latte

fighting the writing against music replayed
spayed cats and rats
tangled in the blue-green stream
of consciousness
losing the lips
prying them off onto sweaty-sex palms
and doors unopened, reclosed
when more roses bloom then sigh
i lied,
about wanting nothing more than
your son-of-a-whore daughter
naked, on a stoop

recap the nights with lights and bike racks
sacks of paper chain-mail poppin locks and
cocks
and

rocket ships sailing in the nets--
flailing the letter you swallowed whole
digging farther than you thought
you'd
go.