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for breakfast: sun(ower’s near slaughterhouse: ask nothing
mumbo jumbo per diem
anguish
pendulum language
a tucking in of abdomen
a pierce with anesthetic
the stiff stinger on waiting grave diggers whispering politics in overcoat cough
dead legs, stumps, grow between the tiger lilies the trinity announces its arrival through state radio
praxis in interludes;
the waggle dance begins
a shoot of foxglove blossoms
between the chewed cheer of a steers gum line
this is our weather sunk swelled to the (oor six inches of topsoil
unearthed
our gifts shaping each curse in glass language to pry away from psalm proxy white washed eyes
a Tuesday of perfumes bloom
so as to burn in celestial stew
soon enough you dance
but the waggle does not #nish spirit downs
spilling fermentation across a #eld of bonemeal
wine teeth
spooked limbs