I’ve yet to hear a splash

in the wishing well filled with blankets.

Dump trucks dodge

the guilts

and the guillotine rolled away long ago.

The ovens are cooling

as the homeless prophet starves.

The dogs with silver makeup line the streets.

The golden bell tower draws lightning,

and dolphines scream in my front lawn.

When the daylight locks itself in hiding

and the conversastions with the moon dry out,

that’s when you’ve come to the neighborhood.