Souls flung forth in little graphic packages
stacked against walls with bright spines
talking pipes and bronze titles
raining down from an empty place
above a beautiful skull.

Rivulets of melted paint
in the palm of a dancer's hand.
Stab wounds leading to the river.
Bricks in a cab of photosynthetic light
rolling down a San Francisco hill.
Park benches for bones and eyes.
Birds tracing our wheat gestures.

Many songs on the same wire
a spear and an egg
in an empty room.