RIVERWALK

She climbs in a huge crucifix of fallen bridges
painting the highway signs entangled there
with watery self-portraits
gathering force far behind
the ice like sperm of manmade mirrors

In sugar town she squeezed
a vinegar sponge for me
on her guardrails sheening
my white blood went
tall pillars of crib enclosing

blues and sepia came
from an earthquake in our favorite city
squatters fell out of a portal
inhabiting the clogged foot of the cross

We fed them raw sausage on wheat
peeled casing away
no condoms inside the body
all realms of angels are
a gathering of toothpicks in a jar of fluff

we lay in forks high above water
where poles for telephone wire
and fallen lives in bark converge to make
a crotch of unthatched houses
society gone cordless at the bases of our spines
where we no longer exchange
shadowed information

The two thieves at our sides
are towns whose cries we can't forgive
brickwork of car batteries
stolen from all their engines
to build a skyscraper of acid

Two masons with clay of banks
harnessed in grape leaves
with the hands melted finger to finger
of broken oars, a shrunken highway's
rubber bands from rotted broccoli
gripping to our wrists
until our zig-zag scaffolding comes down
like an earthless watchtower

dry her who doesn't want to be dry
with whatever garment of leisure floats
out the back door of the thrift
to be clothed in labor.