Parties broken up over the long hills
whose voice whips through the hairs of my ears
from the jag of ridges
to winding patterns honking and honking
ropes sunk to the floor of the sea
flag's staff drowned naked in the thick of the woods
attics prickling, organ and harpsichord chords
fake flowers in greening water
where the lightning bolts flow in heaps
crane-size ants eat rubber piles
triangulated scum pops outlet mouths
worlds of melted sugar
and a tooth of soil high
in the wave falling.