what do the eyes know
about touching
or the ears about this precipice
of a yawn
whose designer feet
elude the water
you squeaky cleaners
fighting for your lives
even your signatures twist
into moth or rust
my electric heater
may be possessed by demons
but inside my lungs
there’s a city of light
even at the edge of the forest
limbs reach out
such is the hunger
for god’s own sun
i hold the holy book
against my chest
it sits between my nipples
like a little black dog