From a fixed smile

under a dark arch

the wisecracking American

is taking charge.

No golden rods

emit from his eyes

as the dough crackles

and the lemon sky shines.

The machinery of breakfast

ten biscuits on a ton of steel

seducing a torn throat.

Buttered face calling forth

the baby makers.

Milk in its cartridge of acid.

A paid peak in its nest of days.

Squares of the township's fragmentation

coming into essence.

Knife's blade of a river carved tool

giving bone birth to color.