Footprints on the backs of long arms,
linoleum breastplates, shining violet
gingerly replacing the sun,
tree lids anointed by dust,
heated hallways smitten with gas,
a zebra curled up in the palm
of a vibrating hand,
the smile of liquid things
in the hammock of a downward arc,
four streets converging into a melted star,
a fold of soft concrete,
before the muffled languages tap
their earthquake heart,
dancing on the damages of chrome
through the fumes of a setting world.