The season of lilacs has already ended
I hold a concrete corner and perch
a lashing sea in the blood of my legs
a row of seats beneath me
in the uninhabited temple's roar
teeth grinding and gold
long bones framing the skylight window
a hammock of sex weight
breaking on a hollow deck
in a nimbus of bird shell
tight cage of sunlit brains
crushing worlds of seed
with the blades of a rocking chair.