a female in fashionable rags comes toward
through the ballfield hologram
of a chainlink fence to march
right into my arms. She says:
I can hear you screaming
in the hallways of this world to be
left out. The end of this tall black fence

is just a tilted little puddle
you can jump all the way storybook through

crystallized on a bicycle seat
a snail's antlers frozen salted
hurting all the eyes of the air

put forth this morning a fist in brown leather
of subnormal pitchforker
beating a drum with a severed limb
half of the crown on his head.

Mom was washing a dull golden dog
in a groaning tub, paws were kicking

the heavens were overturning all hell,
the saltshakers were upright next
to the peppers, then huge robot arms--