i want my
jukebox empty to step out
into a trap door
and break its
nose
where contact is planar
and death is
polarized, spatial
clouds parting
like the red sea in a juice
can, metal, banging void sound,
spitting
branding cattle
with egypt's sun presiding
as a golden city
with wine baths
for its saturday children
baby flies
living a night and a half
then dropping
again in the sink,
soapy fingers scrubbing
behind their ears,
avoiding sound and
sidestepping radio transmits
through the wiry antenna whiskers
of a negrillo
hanging by a cultured noose
from the bridge i drive on
with my radio
not loud enough