Stillborn beauties
heat-slapped
on the hearth of a radiant fire
speaker wire wrapped around the mustache slab
yelping hollow and tall
losing limbs in bags of blood
losing face in the bellowing air
stitched on granite eye-cubes
talking to a crooked letter
billowing streamside bushes that track the air
with plant knowledge and overcome the trees
the buckwild servant of laughter
slapped on the ass and running naked far;
stones on the lids that have passed
rivers through the eons under rivers
whip curling around the lips that kiss death.