these ponds are fingernails of God
the bones emerge at twilight
and the blood writes
tracks are beaten through the jungle heart
my cells are nursed on metal
rails that run away from conscious sense
and into devouring stratosphere
beggars walk in rows upon the shore
where I unfold paper circles
faces linked by chains of lunar stone
are sent to hovercraft museums
clouds of taffy drip toxic fluff
that sizzles on wooden highways
I'm the carbine of some visionary arm
that's going nowhere.
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