I am blowing steam
at the energetic vacuum,
truncated soliloquies
written
for fools and
frustrations.
I shake the fundaments
with rocking hydraulics
made up to resemble
donated satanic
veneer.
Who shakes the worlds
but the beggars, the
few enough with wit to
ask
for microscopes
and shears.
I assassinate chance and
proclaim the grace
of feeding tube
allegories.
The too tall
baby legs
formed from
balsa stilts
and ancient
dental floss.
Who that lives
on a cruiser bridge
for at least
one twilight moment,
caught
between vertical
timelessnesses.
Breathe
and practice the
visceral meditations
of the original
cave people,
they who actually lived
in the trees.
I consume
the varied stuff
of my star
as I open
eyes born
of wonder.
