last night i dreamt in one hundred years—or maybe Tuesday
(something close to an emotional green) with my wings, green-wings, solid feet,
a ****** of crows, & bluebird things

a thing lives inside of me: a barnacle surface, broomy orange, windy love, a natural disaster—i think a hurricane

between lust and between gators, these origins of sweets from a great war, helium-ballooned a golden crown into my iron bear mussels

a november cliff forged a giant's causeway; crystals bestowed on the honeywells, a giant's love of separation—we are all a salmon skin,
a fiery light, limestone a buck and a half in our sour grasps

last night i dreamt i saw the giants
they roared like lions, crushed ghost shrimp with their feet and laid their moss
inside of my navel where i used to hide rivers

a thing lives inside of me: it crashes, wrinkles into a beast, grimaces an Oedipal song, plays Saturn games, it rings