Volcanic worlds knock on my tether
I drive a hooded snake through these disrupted streets
leaning past the wheel of its submerged ear
to find glory in the heaven of dirt
wild hands have been waiting for
uplift of scattered fields across the sunburnt galaxies
resting places disintegrated in salt
and the careworn wash of hands
that descends from a tower of ashes
the way that movements walk paper lives
outbreak of the ceaseless voice
that seems body to body by growing
in greatness and error, inner vastness
monotonized by imprisoned powers
steroid-ridden butterfly
chomping on remagnetized sugar
as the blade frisbees his hours away.