Typecast coral, feces imprinted
on the ocean floor, filtering many threads
of being.  Jumping a curb tin
worked in the belly of avenue,
leaping off one's own eyes
into the stomach of a tape killer, unloving
green making itself known
through the healing trunks
in afternoon.  Mouths open below,
exhaling their little awfulness,
with flame attendant to lame what
is left of empty hungering, with tongues
of ice in the fond neck of
the pond side sitter, duck starer
who carries an omelette
in his recipe cookbook.