The sky bull charges
through the stratosphere of my skull

for a moment I face without fear
the worms and the ants
tunneling throughout the grimacing remnant

a sheathe of daylight
comes down to adorn me
I stand in a strand of hair
and bleed from a burst follicle
the daylight's thoughts:

a rose petal cushion
adrift with anchor
on a liquid metal river's cusp
headed for waterfall

the dry syringe of the shore
a pumped moon
ailing hands that make the fire
singing above the empty cups
with a mouth of cut tongues
the brazen remainder
of life's ascent from slime
with no hat to tip
or lipstick to put on,
a wig of knives
with divine eyes
automatically blinking.