I scalpel the hilltops touched
by my spirit octopus,
lipstick gun shaped twigs in shopping carts
beards and panties gathered together by kerchiefs
on the waffle wires where we roll and clutch
down the hillside shadowed by dancing fortresses
mutually negating kisses that bodies freeze to stick on
high torsos gripped by legs and sex lashed chrome
the buttocks of fame the wooden flask of the unmapped wood
the wonder of fifteen to seven
lobsters fucking in harness
while money honey sculpts in signs and lacking water
the gathering and lawgiving evolved
with their little water pistols set on stun
I part the clouds and put the clouds back
my magnet leash does not deny the waterglass;
I lay my blade on wrapped butter
and lap bread like a dog.