(+)+(+)+(+)+(+)

Don't go through the woods looking
for a floating house
it's only beeswax and bitters
you'll need, you're not going far this time
though the torn up days in office
entertainment and dregs
have stitched an orchard plan
into the dirt's stem of your skin

The string of your solitude
balloon held in network
crave for the levitating town
dropped a buffet on the boardwalk
tabled for you to stare
and fight over an umbrella
with a lover aging faster than the bridge
linking cities imagined

There's a nest of white plumage
in an alley wedged shut by births
where you'll lie down wrapped
in tiny languages you do not know
to wait for a charcoal spaceship
or a blank man at a corroded podium
calling the name behind your name
when the cinema that opened your landscape
has closed your eyes
and the music that divulged your sex
has rendered you untouchable.