POEM : Dead Dog Floating

The night weighs heavily
like the stomach of a whale.
Undulating gimmicks
wash up onto invisible coast lines
like socks.

My feet are bathed in pretension
and leathery neon lights.

The metallic motion moves loudly through the streets
and exchanges nothing but dry imagination.

Replicating the tree
that's oblivious to it's existence
we fail to construct
incomprehensible staircases
that descend into tropical climates.

I can think of a lot of faces
but not a lot
of what to do with them.

The China man devours me

soft bread

whislt offering me only salty verisimillitude.

Where have the planets gone?

Where are the mountains?

Where are the clouds on which to escape?

Somewhere in the caverns of the mind
the lumionous dog
speaks in burning relics.