The white noise has direct interface
with the synapses in my brain
making ants sketch across my skin
in a drunken address.
Bellicose shadows raise their fists
and wrap me in flags of color
while merging into a large edifice
with a wide open mouth
and protruding nose.
Wrenching my feet from the baloney trap
go take a round of the mulberry bush
counting the pennies dropped on the ground
by the ones who crossed onward
with the ferryman on the boat.
Footprints on soft mud
thud like batons against a hard thigh
easy to miss but not to be dismissed
they are like camouflaged quarry
in a kept heap of rye.