Mud season capped skyward currents give wetness to hallucination
pale slum holes take leaves toward the order of the earth
long paths of jaggedness with a great view
hard to leave the honey that zig zags the blow alone
hard to fling error at the moon who's become your sister
hung to fling money through the mirror of butchered soul
bleeding from a shot of eyes that goes down to the the eternal
moved by the gush of lungs in a fish tank to a square yard
where years fall hard on the unproved galactic plan
and man opens his head on the doors of his others
in an unprepared garden groaning
the breaking of re-taken letters for a swill of tethered time
falling on forehead after forehead
only to be removed by rain.