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wall bursts out of a light
the candelabra of arms
geometrically outstretched
all to a halo of the same green sun
bodies painting bodies in the radio

who touches me touches no multitude
I am alone in the crushed shell
of your embracement
dragging a salt tail
over small town roads
that never touched the ocean's lungs

armor grows from skin that dropped its medicine
your beauty is not large enough to hold me
I'll comb your hair with my eyes
from the parched window of a day-stunned airplane
plowing the tusks of my manhood's mask
into your garden earth
buried there without the relatives

the pope of a treehouse
and the seven sails that bring me away
from around the rain world