The Power-heads

Something has its hands on the weather.
Tilt your head back and look into the sky.

Those aren't the branches of an oak.

I can sense the remains of a disturbing animal,
a skeleton on mars, perhaps. A terrible lizard.

I was in an old movie. All of the fish

had been extracted from the ocean. We were
in a performance--squeezing our gleaming dunes

through an amusement park on the horizon,
blood squirting out of our pelts, the human coaster.