A red-roaring foot-tapping jukebox

Starlight..., is the milk breast of human dreams.
Like a harlot in the fingering thighs of leaves.
A rootless compendium with nonstop needs
A straw sucked flower once more turning to seed,
She is the dewdrop ember once hewn minute.
Hanging there by the willows red root,
To poor forth his dead stone Neptune’s fruit.
She is a black olive crushed into life’s oily kiss.
Hers where he whispers the living clays hiss...,
She is a room of death a room of disease.
A broken empire on her fruit baring knees,
She is a fissure a Cadillac’s busted front fender.
Who needs a knight on a roadster?
On that route 666’ who’ll defend, her
She is a red-roaring foot-tapping jukebox.
A lyrical sea, which numbs dead brain cells into Xerox!
As you light speed to her forget me not’s
Her forget me not needs...,
Turning engines ever over into seed...,
On your own two fruit stoned ball-baring knees.