THE WHOLE BLOOD BEDROCK OF GOLDEN DREAMS

I sat with my beer, looked up stone stairway in the dark,
and saw twirling around that dark spiral
the robot spirit adding machine motor of city
lit from all sides by gold sprinkled dazzling armies
of the vast canyon rose velvet rough patches and scar tissue
sagged in wet arks of beauty who had sailed the future goo
in a nation of eaters, gentle hills that arch
at the center of fashion, how brother sang a song,
leading a shipload of small, bright regions rubies
and emeralds flash electric stimulus
to the peaceful and bureaucratic artists and writers
avid for metals as a base from which they pursued
a part of the hindbrain, but banners and tapestries
whitewashed a heap of stones
as in several eyes ear river reach out

she would produce a son of the sunspots
to add lilt to her smile; to replace the lost earth,
and coincide with the opening of the rectum and a region
of the brain, thin winds of that huge, delicate vault
grew, lifting the experiments

a rock he carried had a small hotel attached
its metal clasps tarnished with light-bridges rising
accordion-fold and fish-rich river: its leather back
scuffed and below the distant lip
a safer puncture gleaming white field twilight,
sunlight vistas of sparkling lava-cap
just before the candles were clusters of grapes
on the speckle of lights around paired spinal nerves
are hundreds of bubbling granules, each a suit of silver cloth
chamber of the guillotine folded in upon themselves
some robot had to do it