subterranea

As they investigate
So enormously, we dredge
Facile, fact-bombs, hope-bombs
Prehensile projects of the tonsil
Unearthed lounges

Lozenge to the tripe, trip
In stone leading half and half
To Subterranea
The destination of a clod
Of bones, the sample decay
Threaded through with
The off-road tread
Which nightly deranges a housefire
With gowns of sound clawing
To consciousness the wet earth
Her scarlet intention

The names withdrawing to canvass
On tombstone, the all-terrain
Scramble of some time-balls;
In with the oils, gray-green
Like candy in a dead rat’s mouth
On the highway, you pestilent
Exterminator, how long do
The carcasses make circus
Statues? How long do they remain
Soft Sundays in the hot-hot
Tabernacle

Heavy migrant
Foot beats through the mitigated
Darkness
Shamble my prayer box
Into splints for broken bones
Broken dream stems and bicycle
Accidents
Trauma like a toad, like a dream
Of a toad, the gentle bump
In the high far off
Caressing the highway
To accident.