locust breath. devouring your flesh like crops. corpse. hail and rain running down your back. the sledgehammer of tomorrow morning. diseases caught with butterfly nets. wings and filament rusting in the basement. dogs dragged their asses around us. veterans saluted our charity. a rustling was heard in the leaves. behind the back. out near the rose bushes. two tin-plated eyes. two wild leaps across the yard. elephant legs on an ostrich body. timidity at its finest. i feel the way you’ve eaten away at certain centers of my brain. and i like it. thunderstorms every afternoon at the same time. watches which melt right off our wrists. the electric sound of the marching band outside. the signs and ciphers painted on our window panes by the falling rain. spell out the letters in my heart, the wind whispered. he had no choice but to oblige her. tentacles wrapped around my dick. socks on in the shower. eggplant colored walls dripping with perspiration. tortured window waiting. dressed in down. suits of cinder. logs hewn from the way things used to be. when we wept in meadows. when we knelt in the garden. conversing with the wildfowl.

*

legs in the air. feet penetrating the first thin layers of heaven. you screamed the name of god. telephone lines sent out feelers of wire, winding around our necks. radar towers, conversant already in rumors, went absolutely wild. setting of series of sparks all throughout the system. arms pinned to infinity. interlocking lemniscates. spliced signals from dead gods on burned out suns shot through your body. the military spirit of the world rose and fell before the breaking of your ocean. handgrenades like sun showers. the lines you carved out in my chest. i’m aware of the infection they left. swelling in the shape of your name. or the name you plucked from the night. radiation blisters. conventional weapons useless in the face of your feral onslaught. i am a botanist. collecting samples of the seeds which fell to earth upon you. soil on your hands, tits, lips. shapes carved out of steel.