Some kind of insatiable piano fell from heaven
In a room full of hot-pink fumes
of course there were complaints, but they shattered when the air did
such prickly little panes of glass

Some kind of violence too obvious to echo
carried on two hooves, trot trot trot
hanging in the middle of the air pink slobber
from the did I mention the piano’s swollen lip?

blue lines open where they weave like wicker
in a bed-rolled ocean meat of ferns
in a bulge-eyed bed-face geometry spilled
from a rolled-up nausea

thumbprints like abandoned rocks