(after Rimbaud)

hell. we are pleased how your city
got bombed - it was like, sleeping etc
it is what we like / to spin gently &

with guns / these are our ecstasy *
are control, in prison as is cosmology
or to lick your finger / and disappear

you dull young men / hidden where
we wanted to kiss as / but burnt as
nothing here but where we stand &

starlings / yes we love what your
speech was a bed we / are your lips
yours, we bargained for / we spoke

your nights of monstrous study / we
as in glycerine / as sexual research we
we shit in your fucking guts / hello