Pine top trees I grapple with
surrounded by a bank of oaks
in high wind
the eyes that the cold would allow
smitten through a rainbow of gloves.

Shelves of tormented wire
pushing glass tobacco
the chins of brass dragons
and garbage tits.

Searing cords and frames of paint
the broken bridges that talk to my slanting body
scarred nose of a gnome in dust
growing lanky with
the bloody hinges of genius.