Bone marrow transplant au Paris,
brutalized eyes in a skull,
a husk of image
in an empty skin,
thin, thin.

Skin as tight as light
as shadows flicker on a man
with eyes like vipers
solemn...slow...the tusk begins to grow.

Limousines shudder, yams decompose,
draining the body fluid
into the sewer beneath.

Tke,Tke....the analysand
above castle stone
in Normandy or Picardy,
thunder rushes to the hills beyond,
Too like you to stand these waves,
topographically a slave state;
yet, slivers of the skin remain: under thumb nails,
locked in splintered wood;
falling we hear the drums
beyond any horizon,
out of step, and falling.