orange

the sun of juice comes
from the trees of the clouds
beneath the french nails
that slowly rain
from her

within
my body of
unknown tooty fruity
are hidden books of love

something here
a water sound smell
reminds me of you
in the slow desert of
Lawrence of Arabia

there is
a topless bar
of lazyness rebels
with a sunny name
something like Nehru Jacket
between the suicide
and the rebirth of the roaming
Love American Style
something
that sock it to me
like a winter fee of
forward feelings

someworld reminded me
that the skin is cold
and Ed is dead
at bouffant hairdo
where the earth tear
drops