Soft and light
(a dream at night)
This is the only thing , the
secondary sky above, the
afterthought that walks into a cellophane box.
That is home in the glowing of taste,
like the nuclear waste.
Spare my lungs you can rob the
head and intestines and heart
and my bones filled with objects but please let me keep
my rotting lungs
at least for a time
to catch my breath and continue scratching nonsense
into empty bright spaces caught between those wonderful
wings at the end of a disaster.
Can you see the movement in my  eyes?
Those are the snakes albinistic that
twist behind my eyelids, the slaves of the old gods.