.......

custard clavicle

searing sclera

i mist, Sierra:

unfettered,

you are lye and

feathered,

in fructose and

fox-fire through

spider spilk you

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