Tempests rise like daughters of mercy
through telephone tunnel halls
and balls of mercury rolled on the tongue
wood gleaming from the heart of the sun
falling through the technology of dust-mites
pushing wounds out of the walls
like a felt pen, galaxy
churning to plot its dark revival
revisit of dawn's province
on a hailstorm of wrecked chairs
rain dashed out like an emergency prayer
hugs and clasped hands air commas in the blear
and grasping the ransack of death
her active hologram celestial body
priced in prison errors
for the saint of asskicked man.