Climbing the aisles
silk and corn silk laced arms
spread ass under the overpass
the train car window's memory
grates steaming from a rack
far in the the thick red background
dream territory where I can't
do a thing about my brush stroke

the woven wool of you and me
lost in a spider's field
all pine handles
and paid-for wind
the curving light's glass
coming down through the crucifix
of a parking garage's gap
in the sky's heaps
gambles of the quick flesh
or a twilight airplane

island peering around the orbit of bridges
waterfalls through wood and metal eyelets
zen ropes of the town's high mask
and her ice twat shining