Slim Twig Whiite Fantaseee
Steady
at a motorik clip
there's a man in a trench
with a quivering lip
with swung-sling blades
to a switch blade-c
i read it in a book
it's a white, white fantaseee
and then the sharp stair
it sprang at me slow
i need this white fantaseee
i need to know
saw four horses drowning
and three without men
i cried out
but i couldn't take him in
"I pray to god, there's nothing below!"
horses drowning in the amber snow
the skull of the star,
marred slit right open
finger of my good hand, hilted
took a bead as a token
i scolded skin
my body was a chamber
i held my breath
my body was a manger
i killer-carve it, i maim it to a tree
it's a whiite, whiite fantasee
it's a whiite, whiite fantasee