where i hang

if my tears and mine only

are pearls of middle east

buried in sand in the great ruins of babylon

will you drink?

will you drink it not?

if they aren't if

if tears of me ran from stewers from toxid waste for bad taste

of tumor of humor of morden culture

will you drink it?

will you drink it still?

if your tears yours only are none but the above

the ladder than upper

will you drink it?

will you lick it when it slowly silentingly trickle 

tickeling down your tragicly dramatic cheek?

do they still ring

your hair strands mingle of hair spray

like beautiful fingers of guitar players folk singers

under the stars by the bonfire

just as the night of eighteen we all used to remember

will you? will you still?

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