~()~()~()~

I left a trail of hats and sunglasses.
I drank until the moon capsized
and then I, kept drinking.
Fields rushed by in an unplanned riot
of gasoline maps,
the babble of sinister squirrels
under the projections of old men
in dilapidated fur.

My scalp torn by midnight after midnight,
everywhere I knelt became a rushing tunnel
of errant prayer.
Desperation was my suit and my song,
the unearned pride of getting used to it,
shoulderblades tickled by the longest branches
of this land, I began to lie down
earlier and earlier, chuckling
about the snail in my belly.

Women who cared sadly for me
laid their masks upon mine
and we languished beautifully that way,
painting the weather into a small radio
with our clefts and our hairy rivers of blood
burping fire through vast pornographic laundromats.
We watched the world through quartz of warped glass
bean-shoots of planets fertile toward the sun
until invisibly it began to come down.

~()~()~()~