steamed broccoli
leaks toward heaven
in a mouth
of scant highway excursions

horrid, hard boiled mantle bangers
invoke across the insta-wave
loud, loud
lathe induced labor pangs

big and falling
and told no often,
"i am not here, i shut my eyes.
i am now here, i come to listen."

the heathen code  
sold to be used on gourmet motherboards
is soul to spirit in man as animal on earth
making slowly its way through the rush