strap on the underwater gear

ted gets punched hard in the face

late that night is drenched in black sweat

bleeding he pours through his telephone directory

it's louder than the trajectory of death

her name is there in brilliant marble

armless he calls her number. hawks poked out his

arms they travel through time now in packs

their shawls are made of wax i've heard

you know they were there because you were born

forlorn in the eighties everyone on this dude

ranch was made from denim the often

softest shades of blue

his hope fell through the face of the earth

birthed into the bottom of the world. this

an abundance of bricks

is what gravity predicts