Chokehold of their missing arms,
Daylit and watched by what you wanted, there by serene incinerators,
One out of seven claims on your louse-packaged heart.
I detest that mendicant lake
The tarnished sun-motes filter comment upon, a shore her steps have not divided.
To see me handled
By my errors, catching and throwing a rubber ball.
When alway I am stepped out to say just what brothers really are
Everywhere our terrible hair thinking
Me   You   Him
Like a strange infusion of paper lanterns and movies.
Flailing its tree-like arms a tree torn
Into is known as place and part of the arbor.  The stormy and loud inventions
Chew right through themselves.  Parts eaten
Force a glimpse of the hair of a field
Tangled and brown and green.  Lately, lately.
No one walks that fence, though it
Is fully in us, severe in being elsewhere not at all.