like vines elbowing the ground

puff, nasturtium leaves quiver

away, drum skins under wind stirred by a flamenco

dancer, her hem tambourines

shimmer her hair

on fire yearns

for pure oxygen (the sleeping pill victim:

below water, tried, tried to burst the wet

magnified sky, bus

turn signal sizzled sizzled

live wire against watery skin now this might hurt

a bit said the

Satyr the

wedding bells floated plum blossoms all bridal

for it was spring & nobody was

telling anything (too busy) all

was song or stuttering into singing the

Silent way 

doves took it when their chick had fallen out

all their work useless, they sat on the wire, small

smooth heads bobbing

there was nothing to do

but sing so

the sleeping pill victim wished to wake up & the wind

very softly gashed the surface with that

wish, granting a dream to her whose brain was

nearly deoxygenated:

There was a man lying in a shallow ditch, on his

stomach

& turning him over (the man allowed this

did this even of his own free

will, as a favor

to the more

living, & showed that mold

had grown gray stiff hairs

on his cheeks, his forehead

becoming werewolf: can't you stop it no not once it has

started you can only lie in the grave & disappear into 

the mold, I . . . can't you, can't you . . . no

(he rolled back over)

& the living one, the more living one

awoke, gratefully, with praise on her mind

no matter lost

time.