Seashores lagging to the tide that feels them
harmonies half sunken in a field of brass knobs
under the net gone flying
in the sky that permed and quilted
their unfolding through metal
clasp on clasp and carbon on irritating carbon
tracks on a fading wheel
braided wheat in the ruts
as it climbs space and tattoos a bleeding dragon;
witless lashing, fiery breath
on the fish man's trash can:
the burning of mystical flesh
from its instrument's mouth.