Cinderella in Chrome Casket

On the dark streets
there’s no-one to see the dash through puberty
the gentle crush of lines around the lips
each smile lasts
twelve days
each small sun
disappears into the sugar box
the scars are fields of roses
on Prom’s dreamy skin
and for all that,
the South is still wild
anesthetized with guilt
the paper sky of the industrial town
burns with an unforgettable fire
& mythic images of
the senseless slaughterhouse of dreams
resemble a bloody liver in the dirt
my new shelter is called TV
while I embrace the past
the stereo bears witness
and I admit
I always felt like Jesus’ son
searching for lost luxury
I asked once
where does breakfast sleep
once I made love with a sumo beauty
once I found comfort on a great wave of confetti
once I slowly, slowly like a moron
unwrapped the pack of Marlboros
lit up
and blew smoke into the spring day