The blood of androids runs the gears

the detailed stains are gorgeous

as the shapes teeming in wood grain

planed and polished and seen from a bed

dressed up in Roxanne's underwear

hungry for mirrors that don't bark back

slotted deep in the eternal unnumbered hotel

claws caught in satin obligations

an easy flight to the moon

and back with antigravity burns

body of mouths, husk of grave disorder

in its own electric form

soup kitchens in the cliffside

the poison of a river made a plastic rope

all the talking tongues in perfect form

the tone of atoms breathing in water

foam rolls beneath an empire of hair

and an upside down sky

all the yielding of a weapon's eye.