& more is there
in the gunshot
for silence
The people pray short
& shave the monochromatic grass
a dark path
There are two seated bodies
but nothing is there—
the sculptor is shelved from tools
The bloodletting gather
like Siam bound
by two rivers
& the wound stitches the needle
into snake fangs
The eagles fall their limbs
& their rust edges fall down
towers of steel knives
Lies own their weight
with cracked spine
& pose contorted into a back
their thrones sit with worn bodies
The real of distance bending
inside its eye
sees hunger
Pleas
echoing struggles
a loop of fading voices
round & round
playing the song
dance the lights on the feast
We feast on our bodies
They feté
into their bodies of clout
then clamber on the swimmers
when it is night.
Over it all
sharks walk on the shore
red clot stain
then whiten the sand teeth
Out there
nothing's there
Our lungs
from the air
bubbles
These are the drowning
voices of our sound
The needle is nothing
The western sky sees only hunger
