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sprung throats for no song
fill riverbed from surface to depth
and all space is a web within them

a window to watch a wedding from
the countertop where spinach is chopped
knife between fingers and eyes on forked trees

you're looking for something to call Master
while I'm searching for a numinous vast
between commanded galaxies

and touches that move
only with the aid of tested bone

but worship the ferns, where I spilled
you squatted and smoked

here comes all the freight trains on mattresses
suits that bang podiums and have
mad children to kill them

blood that spirits away from empty ribs
in passion descended
the frolic of uncertain headstones