I met a face with ring rounded pocket eyes 
That shaped folded banks inside 
As he shivered out thoughts 
They went: "golden and pale wind whispers breathe New Orleans" 
Through basements and racetracks met hollowed out from stretching mouths 

All these thoughts were rolled onto needles 
They spilled from heads tumble like apples fell into the sky, 
That’s where they hide,  [bad word] turned diamonds 
Like textures like sunshine 
Behind hands arms lift into its own 

As the stadium sheds out the crowd into the streets 
Out of their throats pours tongues licking down 
"What will we [bad word] " 

Rhythms fed gently in vacuums perspired 
Will stay where it's warm, 

Where it's safe from the down beating [bad word] as habits 
Pull the sleep out covered in the sheets that harbor rest and sunshine