The slabs walked to piled pages
light up memory cylinders
on lonely wooden poles
pale web threads are descending
from widowed windows
and singing springs
oven rings are turning
under a full throated phone
high snow buries the wires
and belching earth
with bones of water.

Eyelash of a tail's mouth
expressing open bowels
basement laundry heat
and attic cymbals crashing
the tom wick of a kick drum
and a microphone sneeze
dark tanks around
the fish wrapped note.