To the top of the narcoleptic stack
bunions in painted hands
examining the deer path broadcast
in the battered lines of sole
cloud-reflected and dim of heart
revived by primacy of anger,
blossoming in coil,
pouted by the fat squash
of American human forms
waving bones at flickering disconnection
forking the air with their tongues
and watching it flow through bodies
the many wakeful masks
saucer-guided and fiending gladly for slippage
seeping with orbs and rooted sores
saddled with smiling goons
gone bitches and gleaming night grabber
suffering with grapes and crackers
moving with wigs and nippled tubs
surfing regret all hollowing whirlpool
on the way to the kingdom.