Threadbare flesh
nailed into my desires like plastic.
Strutting the high barriers between existences
the beating of a dead way of life
from wall to wall.

Ancient temples clamor
with the sale of modern skin
souls and their suited flashing
unknown beneath the rubble
and its made-up
strength of arms.

Yams in a dark tree of soil
that jettison heat with color
the passion of these vaporous skeletons
putting on form and action
to leave me out.

A ditch of squares and berries
behind the small barn
palm of a vast hand
in which I retire.

Sliding wheels the alley paints
the hacked-off horns of a bull
in a wall of breaking eyes
stems of a past that flowers
knifelike straws in the trash can heart
sex frenzy strapped to a chair
cheeks chafing the sun
where the light cores
and drinks its passage
and slurps up the body
with gaseous lassoes
showerheads of red steam
violet's ultra dark.