we're the most hated versions of one another
walking the sun
creating static
black earth and razor blades
chase the lips of power across the bold moon
orange caprice, spectacles of glass
like peach, like river beds of sand
under your lips
glass walls of mercury
collapse, you on the inner centre
of all your hard glass dolls
banging at the temples of your heart
where are thou too.
Buenos Aires, por favor.
Por what? Por the Air. The Aire
Es that All?
All es enough.
But you say you want more?
Only if the clock work is fixed.
Clockwork Orange?
no. WorkClock Red.
same same
