Pallid yellow walls,
there is ice on my knuckles-
and smoke in void rooms.


Water under rocks,
thoughts thin as the stretched shadows,
and icy bird baths.


Tall twitching willows,
burst like a roman candle;
nobody's mad here.


Shadow-black fence posts,
like erect archaic spears;
pierce the shifting sun.


Blue Indian gods,
flicking candles, dead incense,
oh, my screaming skull.


That cracked lemon moon,
that mellow, unblinking eye,
got scratched by the trees.


Cold black TV wires,
snaking by these scratched up walls,
snowflake static floods.


Cracked window, chewed plants,
sleep in this empty theater,
dream the doorstep dream.


Match-head manicure,
flick a switch and they're all gone,
step right up, step right...