we don't sleep, don't need the hum

of sleep, but erupting morning
after erupting morning
volcanic and we watch the churches
and the laundromats act
like churches and laundromats
under depths of water dark
as green & blue can go
oceans drawn up
at the feet of lighthouses
whose circuit boards
pour electric tongues
down naked throats

skylights flap like epiglottis

music that pricks ozone
turns saxophone from tenor to bass
in pairs of hands that flower on insomniac
torsos that never felt the rain
without raining lower & longer
than any storm earth's skies
can provide.