[WHITE TIE:]
January 20, 2004, 01:17

{dawn}
The Duchess canonized myself and turned Africa into sugar. 
19 days were needed to laugh at the past. 
The vote is that of a return to the Burning Cross Council (BCC)
[BULLHORN:]
Sinners, pack your bags.
Lovers, your bags are packed. 

{midday}
The brown ballot has betrayed me.
Pheramone sang in chords of ecstasy; 
And once the city angels told me “heaven does exist”

{sundown}
realized, screaming “Our hot air balloon, she’s going down”
So we jumped off board into the oceans of touch and motion. 
You said “your sideburns grown but so have you.”
“oh, you mean my quills” I said, looking for that coupon promise 
she curled and smiled: “I chemical you just the way you are”
So why not hit the streets?

{dusk}
Our hearts were asleep so we slipped out the backdoor entry.
I put my powdered wig on and you said “this feels right” and chemical, you are right.

We both need our lamps on.
The air was a blind and teething leech.
I wondered if I lost her and so I asked “are you alright?”
She glowed for hours, her sparks felt soft enough to touch.
Her skin read out loud “I’m next” so I pulled her features; like a child’s reach for warm bed sheets. 
“I think I caught one” she stuttered, her lungs weaving like an 80 watt widow.
Our algae latched against a certain point of view while I said 
“Hot Air balloons give me the sting, just reach inside 
and pull out an answer I can sing or else I’ve let us both down.” 

She was quiet for awhile. Her halo was rusting over and the pale was fading from our stitched together skin. 
“…but I have a light. A satellite that turns the tides…”

My last secret, friends of Vienna, was the one and only purple heart, awarded to me by my surrogate mother Brandy Warhol. 
So when I showed the snakes my 17 eyes they opened the shingles like gossip.
Purple: Renaissance for lips.
We leaked in that purple pulp, glazed over with adoration for our new candy flesh.
And the chemicals sang like The Checkered Loves in Iodine… 

We loved in purple until it was cliché.
We loved in purple because the world forgot what love looked like.
I was red and she played blue; it was a day of renaissance and of birth.
We licked and buried the purple heart deep into the ground 
but like a magnet it just couldn’t give up. 
So we decided that love was a million times more brilliant than you’ve read in tabloid magazines and purple hearts are better kept in flesh to find the white in surrender flags.
She felt a thousand sunsets, through pheramone and neon lights
We fit like puzzle pieces so that everyday was a holiday. 


{twilight}
I’m so nocturnal but I need the safety of electric lights
And I’m immortal in that sense of self neglect.
Just pack up the soft blue details so this case will be closed
But their only closer to weeping anxiety jags.
Where did my spine go? 
I noticed that the tide was low so I decided to inspect, 
rather to skip some jagged seashells at the surface of the reflection.
Vienna, you’re returning, 
your strand to ease my fears of hand ticks, guilt and sentimental. 
Vienna says: 
“Her sting is but affection and a day is never done,
a lie told often enough will be retold as truth.”
The moonlights spits over the porcelain sand 
And her trash was nothing less than a pharaoh’s wishing well.
Someday I’ll revisit those icy salvation streets and recall the summer shadows and it’s secrets underneath. I’ll look on imperfections and wish on the time I’d met them. But of all the gifts I gave her I hope time was the best present. 

“there’s no solution, because there is no problem” 
[END VIENNAGRAM:]