Glass House Windows

Yankee Poodle Jettisoned Its Self From Pointing Figures... A Daughter Of The Green Mile,
InTo The Streaming Concrete RiverBed Of The EveryDay North Of Bordered Nods,
The Door Ways Opened Through Dimensions Betwixt Quarters Flipped And Dimes Spinning On Their Rasp-Edge MilliMeter Seconds,
Trade Negotiations Under Cover Of Cedar-Sided Secrets And In The Thin Air BeHind The Sleeping Ears Of Man,
Not Many Would Dare To Approach Those Treacherous Steps To That Treasury Built
To Spill All But The Skulls Of Cain...
...
Closeing Their Eyes As The Windows Are Shut...
...
Aqueducts In The Settleing Deaths Of Drowning Monolithic Mirages,
The Sacred Sirens Became Violent As Their Silence Could Not Keep The Gold From Looping Over,
Flashing InTo The Places Where Once There Was A LightHouse And Its Keeper,
Now Shadows Burnt AWay From Memory...
...
...
Leaves On Copper... In The New Deal... I Be Still A Ghost Amongst The Dead...
...
Where Walt Whitman Treads Not To Wake,
I Place My Foot...
...
...
And Weight.