Bartenderess

Your fragrant cool, how did it happen?
And the ear-curls, how did they descend?

If the orchard gave form to its shining technology,
if it went hot for cold, where would it sprout
and its productions land?

They'd thud on the moon, let the cycles vibrate,
where they fecund and move
dust into sculpture, that has eyes,
that has alien culture in its most familiar echo,

carving carving
and they love the blood of what
they will fall amongst, a teeming vacancy of cells.