During the Coup

In the pews, boiling headless roosters.

Cornea kicked out in visionary scuffles,

those glass-stained mosaic cockfights.


Today, I’ve come in my cloudless best,

shadows sewn in wet petticoats, drowned

retina, lambskin, by ladles for hands.


Did you hear that His cerebrospinal fluid

clucks limply while it boils down the cones

and rods like thermometer mercury?


They’ve forgotten their colors.

Spherical bodies, tumble with the earth.

Have you seen it yet?