Prickly outposts of the earth and moon
look lonely.  Vegetable sky has
ripped her belly on a fence-top.  Hours
die toward the spigot at the residence's
edge where masks fly in a long chain
over a ditch in the earth
a kite's eye, noodling through the air
toward the mounds of red snakes,
mummy's emptiness, haggard rollers
of long sacred scripts in
constantly birthing hallways wet
elaborate re-entrances, stones
in the eyes of the living, a link
with headbanging daisies
in the eliminated breeze
an unthought kiss that clears
it all.  Pens the curved underside
of the favorite tree's fallen jacket,
fondling what scrapes the skin to red,
hang-glider who left an absence
behind a gone world's desk,
untaught in shattering
on the longest wing of throttled laughter
chained by the thorn bush in the crook
of blood punched through by lingering numbers,
devil-bred routines, pantomimes of the dead
as we look at our fathers falling
through the cracks of their own
broken history, and let them
as we must, their ease gone
from our creases to ease the dawn.