“My wall with eyes of stones . . .”

My wall with eyes of stones With stones that multiply like babies teeth My wall with the teeth of folded paper scraps With the teeth of rusted keys My wall with the tongue of a church bell With the tongue of a crazed fish who’s lost its mother My wall with a tongue of loss My wall with eyelashes of the first grass after winter With brows of an excavated copper bowl My wall with brows of rain clouds passing And with the arms of an octopus in heat My wall with the arms of a field of stripped olive trees With the shoulders of a reckless whale My wall with the shoulders of a tired cannonball My wall with the spine of an insatiable god With the spine of a wartime slogan Spine of a receding wave With the skin of barnacles clinging to the rock With the skin of an untouched dune The skin of an elephant after battle My wall with the belly of a Roman emperor With the belly of the Holy Virgin With the belly of a moon hidden by the storm My wall with the breasts of an aging wolf With the breasts of a diamond mine My wall with breasts of a burst pomegranate With the sex of a drunken general With the sex of a hive of angry bees With the sex of a dandelion My wall with the hips of a grandmother bent over the tobacco plant With the hips of a wandering goat My wall with hips that shake and circle and plunder after the men have gone to bed