Against the wall of sand

in conscious sleep,

in the place of dead fathers,

in the dreams of

the rose-tinted womb,

within the flesh-lit ghost

roaming endless shelves,

hands prowling through

the cryptic instruments of unseen fate,

with a signature and a vessel,

blades doubled and securely bonded,

strings roaring in the purple valley

by the peaks of crashed wings

flooded towers of glass and steel

the laughing of a crooked mouth

in some free-form south,

angelic horns in seas of silk

red eyes aloft a velvet pause

of lightspeed armchair

where the ear bones are fiber optic

and the vast shell purrs

scarred bright by dying scripture

a watery cave

the tongues of a fecund grave.