Rivers take the toys away from a dog
Mild poison emanates a sense of nonexistence
Like stone butterflies in the early morning
Dog toys would make the best spaghetti on mars but
I am afraid of tarot cards in every pot and frying pan
When canines overflow the kitchen the moon is hiding
Under the table with the sun and an alarm clock


Of course I know that Christian freaks
Have been planning to look for gold on the Sun.
Please don’t discourage them: someone always
Cares, and there are too many
Things to imitate in this world besides yellow crap.
Those winged creatures inside the church,
For example, are sparrows, pigeons and crows,
Unseen unless you poison them with the flesh
Of your savior they might mistake for
A pile of breadcrumbs.