cuerpo precisio

There are seven minds beneath your
outstretched skin,
rapturous drum,
stretched
genital
blank
doomed for mechanization
musical,
torrential
and dying;

separate and ghostly perditions,
hallways of image and vastness-
both bright and terrible.

yours and mine own biological artifice
sees son-cast shadows that
eat imagination by the measure,
grind-and-tumble rapturous laughter,
jumps, so bacchic for the
crackling spaces in between.

robert cole-sackett