Pigs, lips, cunts, pink mammalian fires.
Dirt, slow water curling us in and out.
Eagle, genius that doesn’t pretend
To fully comprehend the worm the grub or the mole,
But it does, more than it thinks.
Doves, stream at the horizon,
Brief oases of plenitude
Or sometimes death.
Street lights, stars of the city.
Headlights, car eyes.
Windows, the breath
And the transparent eyes of houses.
Grass, the emerald brethren,
Whose golden deaths soak up
The wine locked w/in the childs tears.
Trees, androgynous, monsters of energy,
Mangled bodies of the ghosts.
Pavement, hard, fast, speckled almost
Like sand, moistened flora, stars.