Pompeii Song / Cave Canem

I'm charmed I'm sure by pine cones and fresh kill
on the trail to wherever the blood ghost gives birth
to a series of paragraphs. "Stay the night," and,
"this is your anima talking. Stay the night," and a
3 a.m. tobacco-stained deejay weeps on dead air, who keeps a flask in
her vest, who 1nce molested the Inquisition with her big idea.
And quarter notes drop around the becoming. And
I'm charmed I'm sure, anima mia. We chat a while
on the dos-a-dos, rising with the lava,
and knock a while
along your phonograph.