Roger Corman, Bride

Graffiti covered banks of a reservoir partially filled in the hills where the storm flows Towards the groomsmen, equestrians below the marsh and tunnels, laughing in echos And cheap highs, cozy and arousing, the bellowing drowns out the cries of rainwater Rushing Mascara drips like gossip from lips of estranged members of kin and friendship, a Brother of the bride hospitalized recovering from attempted suicide, bridesmaids sipping oints with bible verse, chortle and gracious, the pastor puffs at parliaments and curses Them to be boring and ageless Slick grey panels, peeling off of a twelve story building on the rooftops, migrating birds Plot from the dripping handrails Soft-light in the puddles reflection from a motion sensor alerted by a couple's injection The downpour abides but the horror-show seeks some shelter In a pulse or an afterthought, the internet or a cable-box, buildings leave room just Enough for our dejection Hard-boiled in Fahrenheit's, phantoms and appetites and corner stories, handsome and Fashionable where the slaughterhouse resided for twenty-six years, lamenting Tombstones, tinglers and auctioneers Spinal chords or vertebrae, streams of data and code, permanence destitute without Abode on the spiral staircase, amongst the werewolves and ghouls, togetherness Insistent, preposterous and cruel