Where We May Be Found

 
In the beastly belly, where hips knock into one another morsels tender to tongue infused with liquid of insane desire steeped in blue blood and clear membranes of the sucking souls of dried whoring voices in their smoky laughter swirling to a dance of mad music all, where muffled footsteps and grinding joints of artistic hunger in dusty rooms above city streets slippery with fluids of animal wishes, where jointed floors meet solid ceilings of rat runs and sewage of meat ground inspirations and the screaming hair pulled from bare skulls of camel hair coated alabaster skins, where “yessirs” and “no sirs” and “can I help you’s” are rolling together in spring melt waters toward a roiling surf filled with empty shells of abandoned lives, where pencils are broken against black lines of a slow digesting molluscan trail winding across mud flats of human evolution and tone stones tumbling alert aliens to our existence, where every punch of a finger sends light into the deep space of digestion and the soaking of the best of talent into the gut, where a sudden twitch of the head or twist of neck or hunch of soft shoulder along the highway becomes a new direction into the hardened lake of a St. Vitas dance, where salt sugar sperm wheat heart egg rising become the bread that is fed to pens of the howling and squealing kept, where the morning bed is folded into the wall like a butterfly’s wing as light glances shyly across opened fruit, where a congealed mass of intellectual blood settles into a clasped hand raised into a burning dusky sky beneath diving open-mouthed birds, and a lonely island in a pathway of relentlessness surges like a one-chambered heartbeat