For brass
cupola, navels
sweat.

Blare waves concuss
a man on stilts.

His plummet crests,
folds.

Stilts pop as
wedding rice.

Pinball,

chopsticks,

language is cheap.

God weeps
criminally insane
figurines.

Car belches,
belch cannot car.

I am near,
while near so far.

Yet near needs I;
a cut, the scar.

Spirals to speak;

before words,

words the same.