Copper Gull
A crown.
A rabbit.
A porter’s livery.
Blue and violet air doesn’t bind you.
You travel and change location and color
as if three of them suited.
Every attached cosmic love
starts to smell of dreadful sauce.
Go to the wall and jump down.
Hands will drift up to you.
The nude body of a poor boxer.
O the pomegranate body of strawberries!
A man diminishes my
garden with a huge spoon. Eat
the shed. Eat the shed.
Give me your eyes, give me your eyes, stop in front
of my eyes. At night it was strange. You boiled
my lungs. The fluid in them had turned
black, you were like three hundred thousand Persians
marching toward a dry
tree. You amalgamated me, shackled me,
melted, shackled me again. The grip was in low spirits.
There was a storm. Green hydrochloric acid spilled
onto a hundred thousand ants. I couldn’t
interfere. Branches burned in an instant. Am I
snuffed? Am I alive? I saw a garden. Damp leaves
smoked like manure at first,
then moved, the giant’s one eye
watching. It’s true. I’m reckless. Nothing more.