The Dawn Bells in a Ring of Meat


All barstools turning round on alien beams
I am connected, the seat of life
stained and refurbished, cut to onion heart
to fling out on capes, what's in the ribcage
the tug of smoke, to sprint with children
bony crests of town irradiated
trees to whirl, your face climbing
whose kindness is without era, the forces bury wheel
to sag and catch, the web to throw
a delicatessen shakes, the knife that knows,
to take the joints from limb on limb
and never dull, from memories of women and men
I am a train car on fire, the pierced olive
surrounded by water, a soda fountain's ginger mouth
where we are found unkissing, a slope of vents
past the pool's bottommost ledge
to prey on salted crystals, be twig dry
in the kingdom's wettest palace
to be separated, to feel deeply every streetsweeper,
touched rain of ashes, the sun beam dangle flakes
and feel a new order, dredged to widen
from an owl's croak to claws on birch
last night I was walking to view sex
the tapered lens, the lid's flame there is
no random world, instead I saw a baby bear
climb trunks with violence, snarl his way
and hid my shriveled scent in a construction site
waiting for his vigor shadowed to ease
our common timidity, a spectrum of rug
walking grandfathers