Scratching at veneer,
prying pillars
off the tower buried
climbing high.
Endure.

Creating past frames
of doubt, of rationale
on the tower buried
climbing high.
Stain.

Squatting inside
senile mammoths, gnawing mules lie,
strip-mine brilliance
for harpoons
in the tower buried
climbing high.
Besides…

That rope is tied to our waist/waste,
tangled mess.
Heaving barbed streamers
into tight corners
through windows
that maul the sky.

Align shoulders and hips
Musty anamotronics
Can't comprehend
But a clockwork of connected strings makes them
Line up tight and stay
A laboratory basement for lustrous structures,
Watch watching,
Minutemen

Turning back on their eyes
Their rusted shadows rallying
Assembled consciousness
Headed single-file toward their end

Turned back
On their eyes

Mediums,
I need mediums!
Incomplete mind, bisected by blurs
******* my sight, halting my stare
Corrective action taken?
Turn off heart,
Maneuver hips,
Eyes ajar

Moves made to past
We need to go back
Nakedness without regret
Willing to be the only one that likes me
She screams electronically

Notice:
My folding knees are wrinkle-free
Synapses approve her words
"If you would have listened to me!"
Unfinished if you ask me
Sweatsuit mantled to her mammal's final seam
His iron and oxygen behind the curtain
Stolen by towels, filling the spinning tile cracks
For the woman to raise her stocky pants
My lips, chapped

A backwards thief giving,
A parasite ******* on its own perforated teet
Nestled deep,
Bearing teeth,
Gnawing away kindly
Heave, pull
But the weight's gone
With one ferocious yawn

Confetti under sink
Caustic baby
Bundled in warning labels

Before match bursts flame
The indecisive **** in hanging guts
Burning, plastic, green soldiers

Enlisted manlike fuses
Bubbling, browning
Melting, bending knees

The indecisive breath out hanging guts
Burning, plastic, green soldiers

Staring at the minute hand,
Waiting for her drowsy marauder
A Roland for an Oliver
To wake in melting ice
Armless, legless,
A looming ellipsis
Echoes and slurs his howls; his speech
Doubts a towel's in reach
Hand-trembling certainty the air's too cold
She agrees simultaneously
Piling their shivering,
Knocking their knees together

doors were once boulders
so much harder to move
turned to fodder
by simply shrugged shoulders
a suspended bend
landing, tumbling through
my shoes
tearing smooth

Staring at the minute hand
For hours waiting on
Night to slur their howls
One in the pack follows the other

A Roland for an Oliver
Come hell or high water

Tree house filled with youth and fun
Now full with smoke and age
Rots and sways

Swing set rusts and swings in place
Trying to get higher
Once in a while

Built by hands I hate
Not mine
But things can change