BROKEN CIPHER.

I remember the glee of the apocalyptoids
preying on the end of the their world
to the tune of celestial beings
taking turns at shitting

Shine on the river's gas
crass spaceships passing
tall trees brush the underside like vacuum cleaners
bristles move light
field follows the pathway of water
flowing out of a busted heart and lung
hemmed in by rock
to move toward broken spray
with all its flow intact to the pinpoint
where it eats mountain core
where light is a hammer
veil is a wound
long cage is upended on high
blood spills out of the face of god
god spills out of the face of blood
the floor of botched earth
is papered with remembrances.

Long rushes of willow go
over the firm embankment
thinking and thinking in strands
while they are touched
indifferently by the wind
and made by my mind
into weapons to touch myself with
a station's bathroom window
to watch the fire
crawl on their city of death like child.