What?

Can I kiss the hot mud on the moon?

No, the cloud may bruise the leather rocks

 And the truth about the burning dogs will swing,

While the water kills what is left of the soft dreams.

The curve of the sharp frog is important.

The cool eye may bite the slag,

But the ruined throats will surprise the king,

While the wavering ghosts cut the pin.

Don’t hit the blue before you scare the lie

You will anger cool, red wings.

Maximize the used and talk as a branch,

But forget the words of the woman’s fingers.