i ran into an industrial estate and looked around
the spikes got me

i opened my eyes to the exchange rate
it was no good

i have drunk all the drinks
and told in bars of past dead singers and
cotton picker’s slave chests

you have fallen off the world and gone-
in pictures you look vague

and i’ve been stuck in worse
elevators with dry fishing dreams
of the great wide open

but if i could take my spear and run it
into your body i would