A Song for Blonde Bob

parasites
unionizing
in the rain
the cold blacktop
glistening
in the haze
this timeline twisting
in an Archimedean motion
without
the heavens or the depths
to unmask
you

blowing universe
as a warped vase
that holds
imaginary secrets
that truth of convergence
transferred across
mental vocalizations
as the blood meat dreams
bubble
Witch pot spices withdrawn

intense sputum