GILT-EDGED DAYS

Whole mountain ranges of filth
out on a long dripping limb
from a scaffold of naked house
grown men living like gerbils,
old human devices
clutched in their leafy claws,
like dirty totems.

The town is tarnished to the peaks
by dark brushes, a melted blueprint corner
allows two to escape, under a bridge of vapor,
to a cavern that does not belong
to civilization's property.

We have to believe in so much
that has already been done, just to keep walking;
have to pretend in the calamity of roses
when all we see is their outline

scripted on a string layer
of clouds behind messier clouds
outer atmosphere mushrooming in,
we sit here like cannibals
never having been cannibals.