through what was once an anger in my vein
grand scales for my wheat hut on a mud patch grill
truant walls on pastures polaroid.
for the corn that cured the mangrove
star-white for the brown tree crush
pigeons wrapped as lemons in our arms;
the mad room died as quiet stirred it\'s bed broth
as mad as heads; as wide as canyon jaw
our hands not once had dared to eat the rose;
our chair of wake where rocked our wooden trail
it\'s creeking feet on boards of narrow dust
visioned only the sunburn on our brains;
through what was once a thimble for our blood
our ceiling crawled. our crucifix
now safe upon the footprints of the tailed broom;
the arc that now eludes our flock of hair
our table bound. our ankles layed
our secrets safe within the knowledge of the grain;
through what was once a journey through the snare
now a race with the termites to the cause
to surface our possession; book and crawl;