The rails of dreams are broken

on the groundlessness of liquid frames

brains are worming across

the slats of fallen artificial skies

mushrooms painted bleak with milk of rye

supporting renegade daffodils

and tulips of lightweight stone

kissed in an artificial correction.

Leaves whispering of other fates

the melon tasted deep

behind a purple veil

and many elaborate cushions

bird love clacking bamboo

I caught life like a steeply recurring flu

to be here among the phantom birches

ringed in frogs

and fallen castles of the damned

where the blood stands

with a pursed and overflowing mouth

northern madman in a madman's south

feeding pigeons with a dead man's bread.