Flying Prompts

Across the tops of cities
Angels staggering on tenement roofs
As the city gleams
Beneath defeat's fire
Burning the money in waste-baskets
Cigarette marks on the arms
Cowered in unshaven rooms
Destroyed by madness
Each square of the window's pane
Expelled from academies
FBI
Fuck Cancer
Her bleak furnished room
Hollow-eyed and high
Hungry, lonesome, not smelling too good
Is. Because
Midnight at the rolling yard
Nights with brilliant eyes
No absence that cannot be replaced
No one goes into the black house
On a hung out shelf somewhere in Mexico
Paint and alleyways
Rose-gardens, public parks
Saintly motorcyclists
Sank all night in a submarine light
Starving, hysterical, naked
Talking continuously
The best minds of my generation
The Suits, the glasses, the number one cuts
The way a cat walks, knowing
Volcano
Windows, high, grime-smeared