Lying on the floor, stretched after stir
be there before dark
emitting a toll
rain drifting
between pending flower
landscape interests him
below the ground
painted surfaces confer
and stain the F#
father the white light
the side of concrete
theatre chant sitting
by the side of cabinet chance
like a bear’s paw fell
holding his current
tied north felt in
knocking to a piece
all pure like a pickle
weather-beaten coffee
from the comfort café
its plastic mercy
painting the seed
planting her pocket
taken off a curious sheet
in the sexual abrasion
pepper shaken over skin
a tired dry whimper
bothered in the heat
showered into her slip
slit stoplight closed door
the soft part of a room
a cooked rush bursting
into her boiling sound