Processed by the dark sun,
the breathing vegetables,
the dimly erected standstill.

Chased through the cemetery walls
by a scanning and dilating light.

Parked with my friend the eater
at the foot mouth
of the palace.

Sent to the ropes
and chains of love work
trapping a moth with beetle's wings
the faucet's news
of a depth charged sector
rain touched syllables of blood
raking a cloth screen.