INTELLIGENT DESIGN

3 shrouds face in 3
other directions &
the one eye between them

stares up 
at a crack in the firmament
where lurks an ochre glow
& one gooey strand
descends from the pinnacle,

a pendulum, ticking.

The neighbor man says,
"Go fuck yourself."

& lo, the self skates,
fucked, along the black tarp

of the polis; each obscure
cave of circumstance.  Here
are lights blinking, a velvet

tower full of handsome
lacks:              barren
in the noon of Ramadan:

let them eat pastilles & pore
over vapid junk; light-
piped, the butt end of a Buick

at a jaunty angle
from the roof--casts
geometries of rain down

on Bad Boy Wireless.  Eat
this peach of rotten

night.  Reason in aspic.
Tiny glands on the back 
secrete your stony home,

a paean to a simple 
time: lurch up from 
the tepid pool &
breathe
with your shitty lung.