God in a hip flask. Smashing palms, steel doors at the TV stations.
CDs hanging from nipples.
Working a weak brick at the southwest corner.
Fame is power.
Give us volts! Nature is stasis.
Give us our rosy crucifixion!
Ditches ashamed of themselves. Bare clay open to the skies.
Gray wounds from a war which never ends,
Edged with summer glory – goldenrod, asters, harebells.
Brown eyed susans, sedges, tall yellows,
Caring for themselves, waiting for rain.
Plasmas injected with revelations everyone already knows.
Pitching placentas on the busy corner,
Racing alleys in plastic underwear, hand cams fornicating.
Already there are too many expostulations.
Down lava, down engorged brains!