cage of knuckles
around bruised flower, eyes
wide enough to inhabit
more than one set of orbs,
clench of cold bodies
in the beam of a warm movie

snakes on the deck bending phrases
whole alphabet of silken scales squirming,
the queue at the cloud's open mouth
calling hellos to friends who perish
together, vertical acres in air
above the pancake breakfast

the town dies, the mayor fucks
the sidewalk, mountain paths
take on tar coats for beer-fed walkers
sizzle of the melted peach in their mouths,
ferment of fresh spring
upon long-dead bodies

syrup staining snow under maples
thick tall ghosts of elms
inhabiting guitar-moved avenues,
white paper skinwrapped
on scorched birches
paper-mache buttcracked,
twin alleys run past the same
black-lit restaurant, plant smoke
on the lips of tired cooks,
french fries inside beckoning
a crowd drunker than Christ,
newspaper machine openmouthed
to the violence of the dawn sun
on tiny corner of wide country.