From the Fishouse

Photographs with bullet holes face up
or down all nude

and if alive then with priapism
or many vaginal views
an anagram between cover up and exposition

If the catastrophe goes on a man
comes into focus
in his enemy’s eyes when they meet

as expecting fathers a mother speaks
exactly of the moment
a newborn rips her groin or lacerates
her nipples later on

And the vagrant shivers deep
into the viscera and up into the arteries of sleep
your syncopated bit

that throws her down
as in a baptism her legs raised
and propped up by your legs like a table
thighs through the camel’s needle

Or when the highway wind
meets up with another wind heaving a pigeon

The thud a prelude
that leaves behind no feathers
or blood on the hood
only a crippled bird in grocery store parking lot
vying for morsels

Or pheasants
on dirt roads after curfew
intoxicated by the sight headlights reveal