A MODERN

sun can eat me now and be joined
to a twin sun, brows palpitating

gaze of a flesh ship
ready for taxes and orifice

cords enwrapped on the lone pillar
of a chalk planet where two

lipsets shake the twilight across
planet names and planet faces

they have a grey mask buried half
in the silt of their tank emerged

milk can landing on the milk neck
of childhood mirrors hung from the woods

rump stripped of leather brown
against abandoned propane calling

the names of a lost house, blood chips
dehydrated slotted deep in dawn's terror of outage