on the table: a pyramid, a spongy rock soaked / in oil and a vase of forest. the climbers, the rock / breakers and the peanut growers have colluded / mixing their lands together again.

transplant fiber and flesh a thick goldlink bloodstained / reminder at your throat viscous sweetroot warped pulp / the sun seafoaming when they found us

Between my whiskey / and ink clouds’ phosphorescence / collapsing, my lover calls me / a bad black man and I know the truth / in it.

I stand with the pummeled mountain  / of two dozen kids from the neighborhood / each with a couple of turquoise tipped wings