aren't we all wide asleep running. she slips through the sheets of slippery june half past 4 in the morning like fingers swimming in long dark hair. the clink of the chains the nails against asphalt of the spoon of her childhood mother's hand in an aluminum bowl. the unhinged metal on metal that seeps between the spaces of every skeletal bone to ache. she the wall cloud raising unpredictable force like dreams. stalks crouched and preying. until she presses fingers and lips against metal. pressed flesh against fence. they howl and charge. patterns of slick saliva. of hair. breath. this exchange of lovers. devastation. the prey of she in every shattering bark. asia dreams of h-bombs and blow jobs. and the pretty play of vicious teeth wrenching skin from bone. rendering fleshy body works in blood stains on empty sidewalks. she thinks. has to be--better than this.