Temple of burned out veins
where ore goes sinking--
aisles of spilled brass boxes
trickling slanted floors
bright lit stone in buried cubes
shining poles and rope pulleys
lids on acres of festering laundry
panels dropping into a liquid eye
that knows sadness
from the roots and tarnished ground
from the blood rubber of fake slit bodies--
in the broken toothed urn that sings
from a human mouth
with the attempt to construct a human,
to be a pierced cell, a mute
undirected ember,
the cracked lips of a forced calling

phallic processions in empty offices
skitter of polished rocks
outside the river and the framed scenes
flailing with a funnel for whirlpool heat
and the metals of a shackled city
running piss through wheat
and tadpole dreams
over the spent and puckered chaff
licking locks of daydream form
with a woken snarl
a veil of hard bladed bark
scimitar of reflected water
riding atmosphere's bleeding orb
for crumpled bridges
and their incidental lilacs
all dangling this telescopic priest
and his crease of echoes
the muffle of a wounded heel
on a fished-out mound.