.....

On a mattress high above the earth,
birds in human poses pecking at the underside.
A body that stretches and suffers over it all.

Lofted, the voice is a tumult of detuned choirs
streamed from all ages.  Also the namewrecker,
label of the infinite, who takes your wide habitat,
the final suspect, in hooved pursuit,
who eats twilight moving.

Held by no wind, no steeples of moneyed towers
will touch these springs.  Too high to be circled
by vultures, only touched through by unnatural beaks
in a sky that is not chosen.  Azure terror.
Open mist on high.  The grandeur of a painted body
broken for a mirror world that bouquets its reflection
in peacock splinters.

Join me on this rounded rectangle, soaked
with dreamless agony.  The birds are wet and wild
in this teeming season.  Already they have been mentioned.
I feel I have given too much away; also that
I have taken too much.  Unsuspended, we can thrust its
holographic imprint against the distance of the sun.

Stringless and without direct force, we may tumble
the cumulous and be studied by eyeless benevolent things,
while the shell of the planet quakes, while we
travel our separate kilometers.  As if something opened
the core of my spirit and filled it with silence, without which
there is none.  Honeyed love, bespeckled with the madness
of skin, join your bed-thrashed traveller.  I have been in a sky
like the earth's only country, for your outline to eclipse mine
so that I can grow to surround it.

Bring this bed back to its room both poor and luxuriant,
bring this bed to its floorboards and its home on the ground.
Bring this bed back into my body, with its unravelling boost,
together we will make its technology blossom hot moons.