A running side of grey
around the red field,
ice climbs to the skyward splashes,
the cut up days floating downstream,
vapor attaching to the laughter
in double layered staircases,
beds laid out on open floats,
a tin faint edge
skirting exploded blossoms
and the thin rain
from a tire pit up high.

In a tattered piece
of the neighborhood
I am getting a recent haircut
my face looks like it's been
torn off and put back on.

The lines continue through stars,
thick carpets darken.
The yield of squares in
dim painted tar
begins to sag and put forth
bone bridges.
A train car of parties
drifting by without light
on the fettered path.

Stick figure's velvet
climbing the pile.