phantom kangaroo

I'm pretending to be famous

or the bloodline of Christ,

because the sun is lowering

and fear darkens my heart,

dark as if conceived in a blackout,

then it will start to rain, 

on the front walkway near the magnolia

we warmed beneath my coat,

the patrol cars glowing in the middle of the street,

with her wrist in my teeth,

her flesh stiff and pale as the bone it clings to,

the locomotives are bellowing like wounded dogs

in a voodoo dream,

and I am listening to radio shows about time travel,

I can't even feel God anymore,

the only white he knows is tombstones

and weighty prayer flags, 

and he takes her away, 

even though he doesn'’t need her as much as I do,

so let’s say that there was no Ghost−

that I did not know this girl,

seeming sometimes blue,

who wanted to die young, 

who had the breath of a witch, 

let's say I never told her:

lets go to the moon and dig a giant hole, 

we would never be drunk, 

we would never date in a dusty corner,