Talk of hills and brunt of stumps takes me
long shard like paths
fronds of nerve putty dipping in wax
broken-arm nets in elastic flipping little corpses
all pebbled highways and tangled cords
pulled-off doors in off-white paint
rusting to the melody of a fragment's dawn
the shadow's slope wet with saliva
pathway to a pepper garden
crying from headphone eons
to slaps of vagrant water
the salt on her tight trunk
an ear hair tonguing thumb harp
an electrocuted snooze frame
cutting cloth with rope
a dream of sliding the banister
in a torn down house
and breakfast on the cursed lawn
with the lawn-cursed apples
staring fog to a tree of walls.