An android in the rain with cloudy eyes
serves me olives.
I read of recent deaths
on the table top display.
Spots burns holes in my jacket.
Neon lights wash back and forth
puddled by your feet.
You hold my flaccid hand
like a child with a fever,
blowing smoke straight through
a Chinese scented steam.
We could catch the spacetrain out of here.
Or watch the A67 spacejunk eclispe the moon.
I feed you noodles like electric veins.
I think I see mummy in the crowd
being frogmarched by.
It's a facsimilie.
Like this evening's sponsored rainbow
in our senseless spinning sky.