Gila

 roadcut raw vivisect loam
'bove dry, crumbling clay
— orange spotted like a berry bush
beautiful, compact
gila monster stout, grey
yellow-brown water rushes over and around bashing
indecently scratching her with debris
in brief monsoon.

41:37:00:16:6.HFB1 (Walls)

Holy shrikes and motorbikes and leaded gasoline!
What is this wretched ragged thing—only a smoking machine?
    Oh no, love,
We cough to life, and spurt out gas and blood,
    For on this day we shed old skin and under sand we swim!
    Honesty is what we'll sing and from underneath we'll watch
    A sigh from under the floorboards, a cobweb in a clock
    This is what we've always been — sputnik to one and all
    No trap doors hidden in our greys, no heights from which to fall
    a simple window out of a world severed from Ur by man's walls
    .
    men miss the songs of Ur and Moon and Ocean tends Ur well
    when hairs go mad and multiply a razor shears them all 
    But Ur and Ocean do their work with no tools men control
    Don't heed our words, don't stop the race, keep running and never fall!
    an equilibrium is natch'ral, and more barrier than any wall

Eel

Eel hie thee thither
to the adder's dance on sands
thence get thine venom

M. Tonka

on the line briefly
orthogonal to all else
point of reference?
our own Origin's optics
from here we can map it all

Order

they came in peace, friends
bearing power, religion's
rotten gift: Order.

Sand Dune

we wish we were a sand dune a great beast of tiny rocks
pre-eroded in the wind and sun.
we would make our way — millimeter by neverending millimeter —
sandfish swimming in our belly metallic ants crawling on our skin
snakes and tiny rodents and strange insects ephemeral in the heat haze — brief 
—
to sink into the ocean and eventually find our rest
settling as close as we could to the heart of Ur throbbing raging plasmoid deep and heavy below us and we would rest.
Cold underneath the benthic depths blackness and silt and mud would cover us up and we would sink
through it all a diffuse mass toward a point unreachable an inverted Sisyphean approach hampered by
simple muck and crust and magma:
Matter. in a word, ourself.
nothing so structural as Light
no body as particulate as ours

We're Sorry

we'd stab out our eyes with a hatpin, dear
we'd violently cauterize our nose
we'd puncture our eardrums with nails, love, to silence your beautiful tones
we'd burn off our skin if it offends you, heart, that your heat sets us aglow
"Perfect" is your only name N, and we're sorry the world doesn't know