Her every footstep rattles beetles on thin trunks
She's on the floor of the world
the knobs in her joints
like chickenmeat being broken
each fingerlong step illuminates a tarred kitten
every baby in a bush is sprouting from a dirt future

but a bananaskin hand comes out of the tender muck
for her footcuts to heal on in a limping moment
and an egg like a rock could roll in her cup
for breakfast in a forest, former driveway
while the rain rolls in on lizard feet from a closing sky
and a vague form with enormous breasts
comes out of the laundromat on rollerclouds
and she runs into her like her mirror's breaking
------------------in front of her-------------------

her presence is a small knife in a milkshake
her promise is twelve sparrows in a dying bush
her hands are clean
and blood runs through them like a silk