There's a turner's falls
for every square inch
of this earth.
A web of blood that joins
the outskirt thicket's
reaching hands.
The holy transfer of eyes
to a peak of ice,
a ridge of blades,
a blank flag.
Landscape flapping
on a punctured screen
sliding concrete walls.
Graffiti hearts landing
on a sodden doorstep.
Glass cages bunched together
on the beaten ground.
A suitcase of scarves and cars
unmercifully kicked open.