Vacant Lots of Love

I walked through the ditches,

falling down, into the muddy water,
where I met god,

                        a ginger haired head on an

amber ale.

                   I slept inside a concrete mixer

                   until echoes of doves awoke me,

            driving me home,

empty house pitched from straw and hay bales.

                                    She made love to me there.

                                    I bled from the ears,

supersonic romance

on a ten speed bike. Creeping from

my house, now made from broken crockery

hard to sleep on or walk over,

                                    I found myself in a park,

an objet d’art with a dank forest of spires made

from bed coils, broken wine bottle mountains

                        ash tray creeks swirling with cigarette butts

           I           sank into that militant sea

                                         as a wind made of uploaded pictures
of her eroded

      a whistling hole in my chest.

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