Pillars belching out

of the swamp muck,

erected by rising earth

through slime.

Moths frozen to the underside

of a sticky cave mouth:

a bed of rags

laid out like wings for two.

Chains and their chime amplifiers

streams laced together by froth

steam fingers reaching overboard

the slanting floor of a cheap cafe.

Windows filled with the painted

metaphysical.  Forms racing

that have no heart

but in my hand of hands

cresting hills like restful water

hermetic mirages that use

the sun for a shade and my one

dim set of ribs as a hat

for shackled dreams.

Under the steel bed's head

the reach is infinite

miraculous fauna

of upside down walks

gold spoon spit taped

to a basement ceiling

creased link where the palace is planned

for a limitless land.