river of deflated baboons
mark their chins with pine sap
stun marble walls with your feats of grace
intuit the Inuit tale of FISHAGAIN
meditating through the floor and changing their channel
the ones roaming the tourist beaches
bled slowly with a gel consistency
scanning their wailing for hidden rhythms
cutting through the loose water
picking up a fallen storm
shining skulls with fog
Coyote throwing
erase the river with mud
park a slumped quasar in the morning dream
measuring the space between dusk with wet feathers
Abandoned children
suck air from dehydrated wind
ticks and moths unite for firm pearl light
It's time to open the pit
scoop steel glow
heavy on the deep tone
Light to the rising coo
remembering next time
In a tunnel of cloaks and broken faces
how did they know when their blood was good the sharpest knife amongst loons on marshes under orange skies painted in on-knees gasps
