in a room pink and dusty
from all the heave and ho
almost a hundred bare bodies
coiled into still bunsens
boiling desire as clear as cold water
from one apparatus to another
under several layers of skin
and under several layers of sewn feather
and when as an orchestra the temperature was reached
almost a hundred timpani blew the layers to the beams
i saw so many powdered wings tagged with postage stamps
and legs without feet stamping
stamping despair desperate come clean
cold water drown down us drain us
drive us into the -
but here i joined the stamp
and remember nothing else.
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