the sun was here
but now
tennis courts are dying
softly beneath our feet/
eyes
trees
will soon be smashed up
in dreams; willowy
flesh disappearing in
a sheet of forgotten light
/glass/teenage
girls
among the brick+piss
giving head
behind tinted windows
alas
what we dream by day —
phantoms become
pictures when we sleep
become meritless when we rise
yawn yawn yawn
ring ring ring
smokestacks and nail
polish hug the sunlit street.