Skies on tap with falling dials
snowbank sprayed with black steam
bamboo trunks through the ribs
of a singing man
blonde days in the blade fan
wagging an entire body like a tail
stacked cushions of appearance
on a sagging house
foundation sounding grit in teeth
a smoldering wilderness in one good eye
the belly and the collar
each a dish scrubbed once too much
fins of a weapon face sprouting
feathered jewels
on the carpet of the beard's rug.