The policeman's siren

For the working girl
Porcelain lashes
And chocolate face
A mouth that pleads
To be disgraced
And legs which open gates
That close
I am your watermelon
Each nipple seed
My tongue
Not in your jurisdiction
The wise owls watch
From Brooke of electric streets
You claim the dance
You've marked this street
The fish and bird they build
Their nest
Upon the bank despite distress
From the yellow eyes
That claim the night
I am not the farmers daughter
Neither priestess
Belly hot
I age with acid which romps
The bones
The burn in corners
The mermaid moans
Upon the bed
The chorus sings
For our siren marks
The fruits of day
It's wetted flesh carouse
Our bay


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