In the synapses of air
You rolled around in clumps
of mud. Scabrous, mugged.
...
Cinema of still such
sounding minimally a bell, a long snow.
Blinking-
...
No filters. Made coffee, with a ring of
grounds
Reminded of Saturn and that I must return.
...
Nor do they have to. On Thursday-
The single drop of water, glass
Bead bursting sun
...
1.
We rode up.
Pitched a tent.
...
Jobsite
In the synapses of air
You rolled around in clumps
of mud. Scabrous, mugged.
Sleeping in the back of a junked car
speed yellow in bugged night oblivion
A fat frog jumped out of your loaf
The icy clouds and lack of blood-
Pulled up hoods and animal skins
The mortar scraped on the last few bricks
The fires lit in the last few eyes-