A vulture for all shiny things

streamlined into the fissure

for escaping dreams

by a slippery crew in scaled masks

hovering clouds that project

the twisted alphabet

of one night bands and burst

drumsticks under the autumn evening

that has come early as the banisters turn

and the ornate staircases climb

across elegant ceilings

I'm a dwarf in a hollow pine

for this breaking light and pale

shore of persistent echoes

handholds carved in massive thorns

of some celestial thicket far above

peanut packer of the beer broom closet

flowing whiskers from the faucet's glare

and staring goblet cut in half by a hair.