Bust of Tlaloc

dim neck yr squalid g

asoline ,if air were oil ,a

crust the road yr leg f

lops on ,or rabbit swim

ming in a ditch ,where laun

dry wavers in fallen

wwind or brreath's g rime

,when clocks re verse ,st

inking in a tree your head

's st ormed ,aimed be

hind a bb urning hat a slo

gan's corn bustion loss ,drip

ping down your shirt

or buttoned skin

ne ck

c lock g rime

e at y our s kin