serpents fill in the crust of earth’s spirit
plague the night sky with plums and
spit streams of cinnamon
-breathe in sprays.
the big scary word.
each brick in our wounds covered in blind, yellow mortar
the naked and bathed construct in kind mortar, lemon-lime mortar
wrists and fists on a fat saturated system
a scaffold for the ground.
there on the islet next door is a man in a shed
continuity and molecular fissures on his pilot helmets.
several bricks around him.
come check it out later.
for something you’ll do later.