The army controls most of the body
especially. When it stays cold. Let
the noses burn off the planes at night.
Often we predecide our exits. Nobody
absolute painted the exit lights. No
oily tunnels through ancestors’ maple
mountain towns, no skyblank deserts lit
with army, hugging cruces. Whenever it
rains, stays humid for Wednesdays
on. You have the military dreamscape
and it will on ur-pillows stay cold. Over an
other’s cups you’d brim. Grim, from us,
they hold the army dogs back from
the genders of nothing to come back from.
Eyes akimbo nothing
cloistering outside in
grey mind hulking holding
not black eyes but moonless
more staring wordlife into
other mind’s tinsel ear:
“Perfect ulcer is us.
Ben, I have three fingers,
in practice, in trust,
debunked? I can be the way
Rubber unpatriarch? complete agent?
“You mean telepath? girl,
tell me, who is my voice actor?”