DawnNot the barren eaglenor the salt fish kitten,not the gash or the limp,not the golden cake on the rimof a gale, not hopeless and feverish,not the strip of blue salted bing cherryunder her tongue (where I kissed it),nor the whopper columns that shifted,not the welted light butter,or the blanket of asphalt, not the silkpits gum, not sanka, not spinning lemons,nor grouchy mints. Not thehelium rings or the storm papers,just an old spacesuitthat became a satellite.Bliss CloudThe silver licorice is alive!Chrome cleat and blister pack moduledesigned for space use only.Comb the fat from my hairas we circle the sun.Gelatin muff, outer space sorrow,the beefy angelis making it real, yo. Stillthe air is tinted orange while dawn sparksgray cavities of urban gunkstrewn about on earth. I'll have all the eats,find the bubble, kiss the bitter mist,and jab you with corn cobs.Remember: my factory dishis metal and harmful, so each of youwith your lips, your anger, your cubicles,are the delicate indicatorsof the coming disaster, so there.GushingDo I have to peal this gunkfrom the gravity bootso as to chum it off? Do I cuddlethe twits while putting shoes on themor do I make them sit to be squeezed bypinching their feet glazed with sugar?All of them: forky porkers!Like thunder alone will filltheir gills with wax, minky garbageon their lacquered bonestimes ten bangs for a fun housetwins in the ginkgo treetearing the leaves down in frontof the panic store. Razorback dazzles,snack fakes, goals like crossingthe street, like memory sticks,like missing the stabber with a gush.