Milk laden lands

frozen with ecstasy

neon posts uprooted in the rain

left flickering and crooked

in the paths of the inner flame

that drives the outskirts

embankments of moldy money

strewn with leather blankets

and scriptural underwear

the hosts of the prophetic gleam

bowel's music in ruined bookstalls

eroded landmark towers

in puddles of half melted coin

rescued by moss and bright

animated bones shining in salvaged paint

the crossing of rubbery staircases

under knots of tied up lightning

fissures that clench and ooze

with darkest honey

in the flanks of lost

and freshly fertile earth

the serpent of the skies

is a torn heart's mirth

and a soft train coming

with oceanic windows

and wheels of sexed medieval fire.