The bed has been tucked in.
Its rotten-green
Dissolving comforter
Smoothed down into a bubbling

Pot of boiling figments:
Wings of a cockatoo for legs,
Carapace of roach-black plastic
Round a phallic protuberance of ice

Melting from inside
As it tries to saw through
A firewall of red ants
Spilled by a corporate security icon

That is the eye of solar wrath
Like a V for victory with
Cancer pulling E and M from it,
While the skylight of an elite apartment

At the bottom of a frozen sea
Allows a silver light to wander slowly
Spilling a blue vein that flows beneath
The broad back of the prone bed.