The woods quake and suck at the egg of the world
pits of footprint shimmer like nets
to water cutting threshold of hills
with wide-leaved stem choirs
twisting aches of turned necks
in a pond's depth of rotting color
turpentine mustaches form in flocks of bent wing
a vast and loving pulse of mouth around the anus of the moon
towers and towers and towers of dead light
arc bridges to batter wheels skyward
from the smack of kissing bodies
the scent of a lobotomized dollar
furrow of growth in the folding of earth
a chair of shat flowers.