the mansions on ridgemont

are monuments to sleep

your shoulders should not hang down from your spine

but should like wings

technocastle court

city machine womb

in the corridor of moons the trees are my buildings

and the birds my "Glass of Cool Wine"

only reversed so that

the manimals on ridgemont

dozen in munificence are dozing

and the city is a lion in a suit

of techno gear, the signs are advertisements

for right here

the technocastles on ridgemont

are monuments & hearings

where roadkill rise and play marionette with human skeletons

but the city of the jazzband ocean

growing as the metal coils and cools

and coursing with the chemicals we use

them anthills on ridgemont

with courtyards beautiful as spools

they must have noticed

here the foxes and the plaster

fused together

have become museums

and the jazzband lantern to the street

(somewhere

some other side of planet

where live people walk)

chimes and coincides

the blades of grass cast shadows where the crickets

are those people

two animals a manimal and

a womanimal

implanted voices in each other

with chips to hear themselves together

then had to change their chips

to hear each other only in a certain tone of voice

the bag of names the forest lamps

the bluegreen stone ground by shade of half the supernovae

in a graveyard to the homeless