The marching trees color over me
skinned canoes carve brown water
rubber ruts put latex to the rolling berries
dragonflies don't pick on their winged,
invincible cool, princely glass of eyes
bullshit detector burning out
at the equatorial checkpoint.

The bottom of the frame seeps light, is uncut.
Fronds at the edge of a pizza park speak to me.
Picnic blankets fly up into the sky like parachutes.
The crowned warrior of nothingness' nimbus
at the river's edge, perched on a rain couch
skin stuck to yellow leaves
rolled in a goldenrod gutter
hair frosted with mud
an uprooted overcoat.

Skull empty as the egg he crawled into
mirror thick for eyes bitten by fireworks
hands on a stone fence
ass in the air for the weather messiah.