burpees forge burps
owls paint the ceiling
beavers **** your throat with
trinkets
and masked orange piths

what plagues you about death is not death itself
but the cracks in the glasses
and the insides of the duck soup
at The
Sea
View

here it comes

open and closed
mushrooming right out from the polestar of the lions’ lair
Krakatoa

a thousand potted minks let loose in a chicken den without a single
working
cash point

and from over the hill
all your ghosts connected

marching
louder
closer

banging
banging
banging

banging on their drums.