And gargoyles of human beings hung on the ugly architecture of wobbling lurching bodies coming down fast like dying empires, after the sun is already

dead in their eyes. Rooms full of spooks drunk on dish soap spiked with whatever was left on the tables when the bar closed. An animal over there with spotted pants dreams googleplex with the chopped up palm and broken wall and it's just lost, oh my God. Moving like a range of dusty mountains, dead with nothing to hold it down, moved by earthquake or rain that swallows the stars and moon. Get out of the way, off the curb, he pukes on the garden and slams sideways into the stucco. What are the cops waiting for here, lined up in their cars staring at their clip boards and microphones. "We got some people scratching themselves, a man looking at his eyeballs up under his shades, and a woman with a poochy ass who keeps turning around and around. Find a hurt place and don't ever let it heal. Get that fucker hanging on the wall and tear him loose, the stars are coming out. There is a TV set in a window, it says, 'The stars are coming out.'"