I drooled into the mouth
of a river, bending to a humid
tone after the uplift. My allegiance
to the ground,
unaccountable every now and
then. An occasional attack.
to tealeaves in a wicker basket. The head
cradled in wild green arms
stewing in its own juices.
(The name for this
floats up against itself.)
As hi-def flames unhinge flames
I promote erosion.
To gauge a weapon is
to depulp a flower. A carnal
temper. A spade, apical.
Dirt flooding into a green coma,
risen from the drought unpeeling
against the track
of a mesmerizing hand.
Mechanical insults to
a cutaneous barrier.
Less marrow till fully distended.
Meanwhile: a finger running the scrotum seam.
I keep up the talk of crazy bowels,
the talk of trying to dry it all
out but it’s all green and getting greener.