to scratch blossom
eyeless watchers watching the eyes of our time
no voice tears the fabric of the day
sidewalks hum armadillo scales
small mouths eating in the chimney
feed-bag lowered from the stereo
footclaws on an orange crate
ocean-thread along the length of her body
some grey person is drilling home
the length of the anchor and tackle
where clouds hang fang-low,
stepping inside electro weight
of gravity's whole store
in the back fruit peel of her forehead
circuits chiming like wasps and straw white
if nobody ever touched the wall switches
reverberate body never slide and sicken
down the ribs of a spiral staircase
through the floors of a heroic garage
eyeless watchers watching the eyes of
those on the visible