Listen to the crunching

Music of the crashing

Mopeds all around her

Painted with the burning

Powders of exotic

Funerals that surround her



Chronos feasts on his children

Like turning mango flesh

Will the trouble cease

When she pays off the police?



Infection filled my head like

Springtime flower beds and

Evaporating trash

Pressure in the skull like

Leaking timber hull made

Dreams so wonderful



Chronos feasts on his children

Like turning mango flesh

Will the trouble cease

When she pays the pigs off?