Poem commencing with a line from a Mambo commercial (2003)

A short taxi ride from the truth
we receive a phone call...

lottery! numbers!
We. Are. The. Money.

Mouths lock open,
we die maybe three times,

hot tears of confusion
sprint over our cheeks -

but then you and I had always known
we were destined to be loaded,

and we know what is required of us,
transient us -

poised to become
frontpage drug abusers,

the paparazzi blinding us white
whenever we hatch from the hotel room -

we're kissing ourselves relentless,
tongues lashing -

now we're rising idols,
lit up large above the easy city,

naked,
ablaze.