I wake up to the taste of expired
salmon feeling like I need the priest
as all the tongues in all my bitten bodies
begin to speak of different things
at the same time
under a marmalade sun of stone and wheel.
and faded revolution.

in the kitchen the tablets spider crawl to life
as a white cat looks at me from the windowsill,
and the tablets are my soul and the cat is my soul
and as I drink the foam birds rise from the brush shades of wings huge shadows huge hard songs like snails
grip the house-edge and
the cat leaps against the screen
and it is like Normandy and Stalingrad (x) and the shelling of the harbors -
cat yellow eyes coming down to...