Pills of sealed pine
nudging lunar eyes over the ski slope
lodges packed in wind and gobbling tar
huge cans of what the field gave sealed in tin
the lingering of a hand on the ax
pathways furrowed with limp receipts
temples sculpted in craft of shadow
coins tugging strings shot through their muted faces
high roofs for the bare feet of prostituted prophets
grass mats in an oil slick
sweating from the warfare of their dim ideas
hills bulging with ice cream cannons
mated tassels struggling loose from a heap of seed pods
long lines of wire smoking on the fertilized mountains
satellite towers thatched with abrupt branches.