July 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Three / Online
Ray Cuernava

greasy hair richard hell eyes
queen of some midnite
flaming song
knife in hand
fifty third and a third
i ran chasing birds against the frosted ground
you took another line off my ass
write your name in my arm
nimble fingers on your freckled skin
burnt out mind
scars that i dream about
taking another shot
we drag ourselves back to the collapsed city
rolling on the cement
the blank generation
guerilla of the street
on that white dress and act like
the queen of my heart