quiet
what viscous a sound

noise
like dust on a wall
the hand moves
and wears it
stills then
and becomes it

this city tumbles
a restless fall

sour sun in my stomach
threatens to rise

1.
salt-caked fingers
peel each other

2.
slimy tongue
toils in vain

3.
soft lips
metal beneath teeth

4.
barbaric generator
clears its throat

5.
on these beaten blue windings
sun keens

1.
wish wish  die
shh, little fly

2.
palm on palm
between, a slender void
mosquito, still alive

3.
sour streetlight
splashes on eye

4.
night sleeps
her jaw slack

5.
mosquitoes got me dancing
an Obscurus

these days, summer sticks sticky
on plastic and skin,
and moss above lips grows fast and fat,
sneaks through muscle to chin, and
leaves its footprints on the nose

these days, ticklish goo melts
out of the bodies of clay and
drips dreadful down
licks the spine with a slimy tongue,  
and opens its dark wide mouths
near hills and pits, it
sputters out snails of staining trails

these days, metal wings stir up
an air soggy with warmth
and mix up a hundred drain flies
that settle unflinching on necks and arms
and bite little
little and sour

these days, sweetest touch is salt,
and faces unpleasantly gleam
beneath liquid white lights
that splash all boiling on flat-faced tiles

these days, March winds march
their banners of sun-softened fruit
and sallow nights
that tumble in tumid vomits of black
and smoke and groaning fans
round
     and round
and round
in an orchestra of mosquitoes
right inside the ear

water down stone
stone
pebble pebble pebble
stone
splash! shatters the sun
quiet

twinkles then it around
in ringlets ringlets

and feet jump in
scare the fruity fish
you know, winds they move
like violins
and rain blooms
grey on concrete
moon on palm
run run run the children
peach-cheeked
and nest hair
through streets
where hawkers make apple pyramids
and orange pyramids
and some spray glitter on flowers

through turns
turns–– one falls! gets up
through streets and streets!
laugh and talk
then halt
exhausted
lips moving–– chests like sea-filled
and then
then
the water topples topples
down the stones
and stars and suns
peep by
and children grow out of their clothes
but through streets they run
run run
laugh laugh laugh
laugh
and rain becomes the puddle
loud and starry
and a frog startles

painting is butchery
is beautification of breaths

as they bubble hastily out

sometimes mad
like suddenly breaking glass
or pond

sometimes springs
tinkling down stones

painting is thunder
slowly rising
or the perfect fury of it

I hesitate, stuck astray,
as the hues awaiting
wait

reap or harvest, must I burn or
decorate?

but, tentative, I breathe
inevitably on

and suddenly
it is all here