I went to her house once
On her bed
were burnt stuffed toys

Her father
Set their house on fire
And left while they were inside

We both know that
Death takes a ride sometimes
Black hood
Face red, molten skin
Burned alive body
He took for sake of compost

None of this prepared me
and when I met him
I expected a room
with newspaper clippings
Red string connecting prophecies
Instead it was a near empty formation
Concrete walls and a mattress
A tax-book nearby

I should have known already
They all told me
I over-analyze
At this point only Woody would fuck me

I stood in the middle of a crowd
a four-way cross intersection

Immigrants come here
To have children
That become artists


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