Superstar Night Driver, Walking, Frog Clogs, Infinite Jest, Forest Strolling
.......
custard clavicle
searing sclera
i mist, Sierra:
unfettered,
you are lye and
feathered,
in fructose
you wither
through fox-fire
and spider silk,
frustrating
and
sidewinding
i'm fine finding
ore in rock and
ribs in piers
six feet under
porcelain stars watching
heaven's nail and hammer
obliterate an oblivion
of them, living in
cachexia with Lonegra,
Crawford, and Corcoran,
their celadon souls
at four fourty four
in the morning a
fountainhead
for mortar, i pestle
i am laced
in her hyancinth
and macrame helix
some spend
entire lifetimes
attempting to
become enveloped by
. . .