People of the Tigris Surging

they are the leaders of the town,

green and clandestine, they ascend

towards each calibration

basalt caliban

hollowed

now rising inside

chandelier elevators

we swing

lickerish heights

until the orifice

singing

into its dinner party,

they are the leaders of the town

laurelwood

hope

cheeks

peaked

the creases remain

our abstract pajamas

are sucked out

through oval windows

suns

green and clandestine

are stored

in a haze