Under emeralded blades she sings glow tuned to radio breath, winded city into underworld she lines paved highway with radiating lymph nodes, five-footed rabbits. Monologue with holed tongue, lick green taste of Rocky Road Flat flavor, lick fuzz of weaved dream-weaver lineage hooked into Ginsberg rant on canker-hex, who else stands in nuclear hands, fingers painted with tiny brush, dip, dipped with poison? Pinhole poison, hers is not the hand, dip, dip, blued dot, dot invisible ink spread out like black holes, star spaces wait to show them up, make them eat soil soaked with thousands of years of skeleton sludge, at least these pucks are shaped into anniversary cakes.