The open dream is invaded by travelers of marble who hurt chairs.
Their faces go to work on the air.
They see their still lips against urgency of radio waves.
Bodies crash open in the sun hammer.
Perfect poise is heavier than gravity spirits singing at grates
that thread sky into tubes pool colors of smashed dust
enlarge in corners that slit numinous and lose the center for a wider sphere.
Violet passageways open to shrieking milk and the petting of framed hallways
in the setting dawn.  Lawns onscreen fade hair and shrink bodies down to wrap
on their faded furniture.  The rooms drift through each other.
The lights cluster in one.
Doors blow off like torn lips.
Chaos enters through ultraviolet piss of machine brass.
Hot irons tickled by passing trains.
The open dream is closed by frozen milk clover.
Lasers are threatened by bowed glass.
Thunder is dance less on foam-cut acres of voided fence.
Boulders roll to make way for a spider's head.
Tender eyes move around on that teething body.
Sand slips to the outskirts
the core is transparent velvet
with a gingerbread top.