THE GOLDEN MILLIONS AT WAR IN TWO REALMS

Go back with power locked deep beneath the crust,
with melancholia in the jumble of innards
to start a frigid march across the concrete freeway
raising fish and oysters shoulder and spine and loins,
gilded boars' heads, plastic-wrapped cubes,
joined together in clusters a tank for protection,
leather dangling behind little whirlpools
overeating spicy foods, bones buried in their sleek sides.

The forelimbs rip up cement floors,
slip and nick the back of his own tongue,
paper and glass, beer cans, midair dismemberment
a wheel in the ocean she sailed on without him
the body and the vampire's colored velvet curtains
bullet-torn, but several seas combined all the nuclear bombs
cereal boxes, splintered cells are bathed in liquid,
girls could go almost anywhere, merely opted
for a new life of the rectum
visited by spectres from the fisherman's world
grinding the diamond into archaic documents
their art-laden craft a thick, black trail of the recent dead,
electrically shielded room torn by wild fluid of a human body,
moods shape our moods
its banks and its bottom