PUSHCART ADVENTURES 
detail of the jumping dream

I stand still
could have been standing forever
below are flocks of upturned faces
without features and pure anonymous concern
i present – the last guilt for an incandescent horror
why gore should be the death of an innocent
or bigger than a nosebleed against a pastel stone
or horny-footed shadows from stained light
i have merely let you in
a-streaming

a-scorching
but none the heat as me
in a sizzle of friction and the extermination of tension
that the brilliance of your arrival should be more
bright or a dazzlement against
the blaze of my chest
a sudden effort
there is a decision made – the ankles leave the balustrade
and a plunger pushes through the purple

the face has dimmed already
there is no impact
a last hat trick and the prisoners applaud
from behind the cinema there is a moisture
a disembodied wetness that seeps
under and into the curtains
climbing still and blushing florid against a show
that detail can give so sullenly against concrete
the face is flesh no more
but a dull ache and a pain everywhere
it is black and i am the flying man
who fell first from the hanging tree
now i may be my vat
or stone
or you to meet my last again