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I quote, like a video machine
her eye broadcast
the total destruction of the real world

Lush rugs urge feet to third eye
in a sexual wobble; watch the fish tanks
return breakfast to surfaces
of algae green
and white stripes the fish are alive in
my shinbones and my bird
chest grown pulse
trembling to her shower
where she moves bulbs to peaking corners
in the rearranging rooms

She takes me to the stirrups
she's been put in
lets me feel the cold
life between forefinger and thumb
lowers the fluorescent cage
shows the passion of my speech
to be so many tumbling numerals

Campfire at the top of sodom hill
so many breezes that torched the morning
breathe back to me
through netsmoke of too many guitars
what you were saying when the real pearls shifted
she touched a ledge and found
a downbeat, mossy husband

While I chameleoned