Twin town 2

 It is the fourth wall

The fourth time around

That my cliffs fall

And time's oceans roll

In delicate rhymes of whale song

Down garden paths where I belong

Too too-fated prices of corn

In the gob of the chief of the indians

I cut away his tongue and say bull

Bully bull finch

Through fried green tomato skies

Of the Northern lights

Where cold eskimo people dwell

I clash like a four-poster bed upon the shore of

Your reeling consciousness and hope stands guard

Out side the caravan of your despair

That makes its way through the desert and the tented ladies there

And camping hands are sprung in traps

As baby birds are eaten by reindeer

And filtered back through water taps

In the fourth wall that is broken down

And segways of conversation

That never muster dreggs of disintegration

Into holes like sheep jumping over bars of soap

Or shower head reaching epiphanies in the graveyard shifts

Of cat and dog mouse trap trips

Where each tail is tasted like a bead of sweat from a heaving bible

Carried on the back of the Siamese army

Marching through twin town