Cheek biting beauty
descends into fingernails
imploded with detritus
the fate of small sparrows
on a spread of goats and ravens.
5 will always meet 3
in a safe place (Kerouac
in his Brest bars and taxis
paranoid from glucose circuitry
and mommy missings as we…) where
WSB towers like an alien ship
where parrots engage in
psychedelic foreplay
rising up into the infestations
the feathered bosom of dank woods.
Animals love. Many humans try.
Into a hole where money can be smelled
but alas the unseen fortune is a ghost
riding the pine to the end of the line
and all our hero feels is the spray
on the coast a mediocre plankton
panics to an empty pocket
on a first touch but then another
and it’s just wrinkled down
Inhaling Skunk through a PAX
while bees invade Winter.