What muddy sound memory remains of thud of smashed face?
The particulate sharp angle shards in dandy lionic scatter with dust.
As if alabaster flesh were ghostwhite pale plaster, the false rock of vain gods busted. Antimonumental chiseled nose inscape remains, slender erosion seams hollow like dead desert steer skull, with cactus scene of broke wagonwheel fame, bonebrittle of parched shecrotch bathed in sand.
Stiff fists make plastic chips awash in dire consequence
where only jawbone ass stays intact, while leftover blue eyes are pried by bayonet from grooves of tanktracks all hail time well spent by burial detail,
the hearthless home of all who fail at everything else.
That’s where body parts are named, tagged, and gathered shall we not
go down by the river the beautiful, beautiful river we gather go to find in snow more fingers and toes of pinkblugraying mother gutsinall
the lasting enthralling last dire enthrall of saving face?
