The blue stem crashes through

the eighth angel of my mind

on a glazed rooftop, in an empty

coffee shop cleared for my dream,

ink blurred of the pages turning.

Kisses turned aside that turn

to soggy bricks and land

in a ragged wall.

All my renegade companions

are gone, the silk remainder

of a sowing machine ship

that plowed through the side

of the main road and

into the purple water

flickers in twilight and dawn

expressionless as a pawn

the departure is mostly invisible.

My claws on this cliff's dried root

reaching for dirt in air

my breath and the breath of the ages

just barely taking turns

as the old world melts into steam below

and dancing throngs are covered

in waves of red clay

with traces of iron

there's a cinema of bones

hysteria within the cloistered glow

of pipes pushing water

the cage that speaks with one voice

far from the feline choice

of nobody's passenger

memorizing wind and rain

the luxuries of chosen pain.