goodbye, scratch long lost love.
White mice, black rat dash and echo every hour
in this white inhuman asylum of souls, holed up in heaven,
without angels, undying, cold and numb.
There’s a daydream. There’s high school. You and me.
There we hang out, hang on, hang . . . .
Our happy fix loves us more than we teens can love each other.
There’s hope roped around outsider hearts,
white arms clasped, fears choked fast:
dragged, drugged in each mouse, a corazón corsage
of courage for red fur freedoms of needle and blood.
Followers be thy son and daughter!
Our contemporaneous ecstasies pink into white.