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He's a fine monkey, I can see right through his skin, his body bending under windy fingers. Without noticing, the elder boy tags a monkey larynx by a stray red thread, and yanks it out. Halter girls are dogging me, pilfering my car keys. I'm not fit to drive. I've gotta hold my hands up high. Porcelain and plastic magnify his shanghaied shell, vinegar and flowers rising from her hair. This one was the matchstick, this one was the hint of chick. This one was the bottle spun once by a sailor. From Letras Mania