Cranked up into

the aching heavens

hatched from a

strobe-shot cloud

sprung with shotguns

and cartoon flowers

from the womb

of uncertain matings

brandishing the certainty of stars,

shadows cross a ping pong table

and the waxed rafters

pulsate with alien hymns

the siren's howl becomes organic heat

cabinets of shining brass bells

afloat around a swampflower

the absurd clock kicked aside

and the hung sheets dry.