Why spore sleep, remember
erratic as mushrooms
the populated courts and balls,
however splendid each win
of vacancy that squinches clockwork
and phantom, why snooze through her?
Every patch says so
each nerve ending wrenched up,
crushed mantle dusty,
scaly as fish drawn from reservoir,
bite sweet and more sweet dried in sun,
the given food embarrassed to nourish.
 
How many cobweb stories
hound shy chanterelle swilled
to ears and
beyond the leaning aptitude?
Let me see a guitar and
I’ll tell you another nimbleness,
popping hills dirty with people,
touching giants with feathers
at the same season.
 
I hear the wires going dead
soaked and neglected,
illuminated by human nerves
and as the constant witch
more warm than electric
filament and closer than Christ
in stick they play another
pressed coin on intelligent trees.