​So the code read industrial portraiture
The lit red plastic of the dollar store
Heroes eating deer in a gyroscope opera
Or a decrepit hamlet, the boys huffing tires
The girls in chamomile, gatherer of towns

Like pronouns desiring the heaven
A public park with the tornado drawn in
I dislike the bag of clothes
How the iceberg beneath your fame
And stylites impart wisdom, the necessary thing

Until a narrator veered. The car got
Lost in the lot’s blue wing in the mall
Triangles turn in the wind. These scenes
Reached no book and we brushed
The pool water, streamlined, presenting