Blood spills from my books
to the mouth of a raccoon
by the water that spreads its words
he drinks and speaks like chemical man
scrubby chin touches my eye
from a dumpster heart
my language eats his mouth
he keeps speaking it
rises to take my shape
stretching and clothing himself
with my thrift and baggage
stoking himself with the night moon
eating thin-wrapped fruits
from a bronze basket,
running and gleaming
with drums and sour drink around the fire
turning to fling reflections
for the ribbon onlookers
turning to eat roads instead of conscious time
then trapped in an armchair screaming
ten tons of microwaved eyes.