Paradoxes rain from the powdery

white and blue evening sky,

the claws of you and I dancing

drip with ruddy spiritual blood.

I'm Ty Cobb, mean as hell

and won't put up with any shit.

Tap dancers on the roof

are shooting a music video,

I get intrigued.  I live

in a long lasso, torn

by distant stars.  I'm the frog man

going to Mars.  You're the seller

of empty space.

Put up a shell of shackled tendrils

over the square pond

and the knuckles of the moon

that come too soon on a blue rail

bones lost in circumstantial hail

and the belly of a hilltop,

tones wheezing to be heard

in the chemical herd

and the shine of a goldenrod clearing

the chains of a mirror

the shames of a lettered sword

these cocktails while the dragon snores.