Cecilia And The Silhouette Saloon

Murder = White Out. Cancer=Birth Blouse. Mirror=Perfect Glass Spouse. Oil=Sex Paint. Shower=Water Saint. Death Decodes the howls from our hands. Skull=Noise Nest. TV=Fuck Test. Mirro=Siamese Gun Kiss. Sugar=Birth Bait. Murder=Loves Fate. Death distills the camouflage from our dance. Death inverts the red from romance. Death x-rays the angels of chance. Death: the anti-mirror of infants. Like a picture hiding beneath the digital Avalanche. When Cecilia's grave cracked like a dirt coccoon she pulled up a stool at the silhouette saloon. The player piano mumbling crippled jigs. Black widows knitting victimless wigs. When Cecilia's throat slit like a second set of lips she drooled braille bibles onto the brothel bed spread. like an egg whose yoke defies child bearing hips. Like a ghost who fears all of the deceased and dead. (Time eats the flesh and spits out the shadow like a useless wishbone.) But that locket spinning around her neck, whose hearth heats a dead valentine, you know the phantom trail leads way to a muted grave. Where is his voice now?=A dead tone in the flutter of drunken wings. Where is his blushed cheek now=A face unraveled in shadow. veiled in blind laughter. where are those sex ripened lips=His kiss pirint still warm on several necks. Murder = White Out. Cancer=Birth Blouse. Mirror=Perfect Glass Spouse. Oil=Sex Paint. Shower=Water Saint. Death Decodes the howls from our hands. Skull=Noise Nest. TV=Fuck Test. Mirro=Siamese Gun Kiss. Sugar=Birth Bait. Murder=Loves Fate. Death distills the camouflage from our dance. Death inverts the red from romance. Death x-rays the angels of chance. Death: the anti-mirror of infants. Like a picture hiding beneath the digital Avalanche.