My arm is full of
veins (plumb), the
of frozen milky light descends an altogether anesthesia,
the small imperceptible
fish of voting.
The walls, once designed (tranquil code), are eaten
through with organisms. Even sound ripples
building's slip (slip).
Though I am told that Scaffolding (hush-hush) is everywhere
cemented as if gravity fillets matter, the brain buried
in the body like silt, shallow (fingerless) grave.
The disarticulated remains rotate
in their disarticulated atria, human bones
and dragon bones and plaster all barely audible
Spectacle of Sockets.
I’d say look into the sediment with affection, but
the ground is not the ground but a stage before and after
I can see nothing
under or beyond it, only what clings—lint dead skin
Yielding Lure (static love).
Small teeth, suspended things,
the pattern on
Empty chairs face the direction of
their abandonment—other shells
which congregate together, found
all together dead; and
the solitary shells are found
apart from one another—mark
of the ongoing, the insistent eventual delivery, plush
knock, then promenade.