He has screwed a bottle cap to the spark-box,
the heart boiling the house’s blood.
I want to drink that Pepsi forever, smile like the boys
who can pull a magnets with their teeth.
In the plaster cracks, he shows guitar thorns, the rose
shed petals, hard as train thunder.
I ask my silhouettes to live in these quakes,
but they are scared of the noise.
Syllable Syndrome 