THE PROFESSIONAL WATERING PLACE OF SPECIAL DAYS

for Steve Lindsey

Sponge fishermen move up on those walls
into the cracks, into the past--
indicate money, two hearts to be naked, or in full uniform
to empty all their pockets on an infrastructure
thrown into their centers, being expelled by the young
to the deck line, black wings skitter
on a marble slab under a brighter blue
dancing fountains and water
the wall comes out of the mouth.

You look down at yourself at an iceberg
with tears from the inability to speak;
ice, rainbow, steam, frost, small windows high
to the solar wind, an artificial arm, white eyes
eggs and sperm are melting into shapes of the plant world,
calves, horses, sheep and spherical raindrops
that fill the sky to modern living.

Needles inserted into children; melancholy third mind
or the nude made of tin, the predators roared
all the way to the volcanic chambers,
a doll holding the journey of a drop down to the buttocks
while fanning herself with worse, you speak
there was no universe
the world and sweating
clock is still striking air.