slouched vertebrae
of emaciate beast:
my long blue ridge
of knuckles
cramping toward the evening sill
and
its slow
light;
like a lurching horizon train,
this restless tongue
dabbling the red spread
inflating beneath my warm
cratered cheek,
a stubborn,
inevitable flow
glimming in the
slow
light,
and the air whistling cool
through the
moist hole in this congealing flesh,
the wet
powder-spotted skin
flapping: a
banner
celebrating
the human capacity to effect
change.
