Pollen on the stalks of day lily, Jack Kerouac and a bottle of Brandy, a body scratched and bruised, bludgeoned black and blue, no one here but me and a makeshift graveyard behind the trees. Look at this, a child and no one wants it, a house that only I haunted, a million bees in my head, a million lives, a love like lilacs in the rain, my buried treasure, the sickly goblins and their fucked up noses and long fingernails, nightmare chasing, unhappy dreams that make you never sleep again, the morsel of an apple next to a fancy house, the whole world this impregnated belly bloated badly with a palsied stillborn, some rotten abomination, bent and broken horribly, burnt black like cremated prisoners, speckled with red blistering and pink blooming guts and oily blood, ending raw and bare in a white porcelain toilet.