Under emeralded blades
she sings glow
tuned to radio breath,
winded city into underworld
she lines paved highway with
radiating lymph nodes,
five-footed rabbits.
Monologue with holed
tongue, lick green
taste of Rocky Road Flat
flavor, lick fuzz of weaved dream-weaver
lineage hooked into
Ginsberg rant on canker-hex,
who else stands in nuclear
hands, fingers painted with tiny
brush, dip, dipped with poison?
Pinhole poison, hers is not the hand,
dip, dip, blued dot, dot
invisible ink
spread out like black holes,
star spaces wait
to show them up,
make them eat soil
soaked with thousands of years of
skeleton sludge,
at least these pucks are
shaped into anniversary cakes.
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