or like twisted hands
wringing out dirty rags
drying out sheets
to fill up the air
like the ghosts
of old mountains
like glass shattering
in a cold water sink
like a moth losing his wings
and turning to dust
diamonds fill
his eyes and his
hands
and his toenails
his ears
and even his nostrils
are filled up
with diamonds
red paint thick like
oil
is wasted out
and diluted by the dirt and
linoleum floor
I wasn't there but I heard him scream
and I heard his face
turn red and explode
and I heard him stomp his feet
and I remember the ceiling
shake
and the basement stairs
crumble
and we melted in the hot sun
baking in the flames of his hollering
teeth-clanking chain-cranking
word-whistling storm-bristling
shriek
silent as
tired bodies in beds
we toasted and burned
until we emerged from the heat
like charred-ugly singed soot covered
slices of bread
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