Water drips down the wall 
and sinks into the floor with 
empty thuds and shrieks
like the sounds of nails
upon hammers and 
I can smell the sweet
candiforence of lemons
like a reverent pastor
can smell the talcum powder
and innocence of his congregation
-even in an empty room-
He stands before them 
like Christ before Judea
and he raises his fist 
and pounds
and the congregation dance
with flames and softness
and they run like formulas
back and forth
minus ten 
plus ten
and a life is only worth 
zero in the end
and like an ocean
a great shadow rises
and speaks softly to the children
who can’t hear
and can’t smell
because of the lemons which surround their heads
sticky little fingers
and I told them not to steal
But they can’t listen to their pastor. 
I created them,
from the depths of the empty universe
which calls to us with light tricks
like the fireworks
I never liked july
but you were born then weren’t you?
And I love you
I always have
I just can’t make the formula
split the lemon
atoms
stars
stop
It goes away when I sit like this
This is not normal, is it?
Is it because you love me too?
Too much and so you have to leave me
Lingering like lemon zest between the nails?
I just want them to turn off the drums. 
But they won’t listen to me
I don’t know why they won’t listen to me
I keep telling them to stop
Drip-thudding 
like little secrets that come tumbling out of their sticky mouths
And i get so jumbled up like poker cards and I want to just 
Grab them and shake them and make them stop
and if they won’t then I’ll-
-no, no, I won’t. I never would. I’m sorry
I just want you to see that I can’t see these thoughts
that drip-drum through the wall like formulas
and I just want to cut the lemon but I can’t 
and so you’ll have to do it for me. 
Alright?