The buzzards drip hypnotised by summer
sweating in ponds of storm
the incense that grows
the cons of dopamine mirrors
have been broken down into life
the permanent shape of v-shaped birds flying
open the hands of history
into the bleach of omega silk time

Leather drips in the gardens leaf
cuboidal faces lock antennae soaring
in this luxury of rain;
the fluxive gas of Friday bursts into fever
the dog deciding red, then food, then pat
I hear another ambulance coming
something up the street
the drum so drunk it sings.