IMAGE

Ravish, yo.

Helen’s on my back
as I walk down N. Michigan,
she pointing out not what
pinnacles repair to quick
time’s crystal mirror cushion,

freed from the pack of cards
    otherwise lifted.

[Rebel Yell]! to stumble upon being
in the path of the guillotine sheet
lightning healed on an open field
harbouring l'essential ooze
blipped hot in stereophonic pans
passionately by a class detained full
stop outside and inside the dentist’s
excessively-frothing-because-manifested-
by-fucked-up-Java-Script apprentice's

shop. Light which Helen gently tricks
    off he spurs, dog.