Barren tree stalks
clenching and gesturing like fingers.
Drum skin world tapped of liquid rubber,
tubes sticking out in knots.
Steel bridges that twitch like golden rod.
Walks that end in god.
High brambles forecasting the hard wind,
wing's beat on ornately pattern'd nests,
fern limbs on a muscled cloak.
Torsos in drag poking out of the swamp licking steam.
Fangs of a frosted land still hovering over them.
Trunks of martian fiber stacked into the opening.
Milk crates on milk crates on milk crates on cardboard.
Long secret walls with their staircases like hair
in the deep rear of the large saintly market.
Sales that whoop with a frenzy of car crash grandeur
high-fiving all the way
swimming in the keyboards of war
all lost in their private blue light
cubbyholed, subhuman humans.