i think in terms of compass points

i think in terms of compass points
(and russian hotdog waitresses)

a pair of fleas set teeth in cheesegrater dawn
resembles guardian cakewalks
you, the marooned carnivore, float, ice-like, through the catacombs
bedecked with sailors

infectious march hare rhythm of screech
chill till mirrored claws rise
warm

reprise
light and refraction
incantation decanted and sautéed lightly brown

form

the rooknosed sniper alone planes the stone smoothe
leaves curled pebbles on the october floor
braided silver trinkets fall out of the grooves
as the laser-brained serpent falls through the door

blindman's anchor set firm in the woodwork
splintered dress adorns your stationary jaw
that bends to no mesmerising beacon
relieves a broken costume unison
stageshow that holds no consistent draw
beyond your constant misinterpreted smirk

the translator crosses the yellow lawn
on the worn footpath shone clean by the wind
from the sidedoor to the rusted concrete platform
where water is drawn from the tightrope's loose end.