Long lanes on fire with roses,

skies cut into vibrating tendrils,

earthquake playing a harp of ribs

that stings a stillness in the blood,

one lump of deranged humanity

singing like an angel.

Benches plush with rotten rags

for the sleepers and dreamers.

Bright water pouring through

the broken moon.

Two thorny gloves

to grip a sighing highway

ten tongues escaping fresh

from a cloudy vein.