45*21

there is the cream
and the green vine
hanging over the window
in violet stain
upstairs, the baby cries
feet stomp hard
in grassy grown//
fly hard away from sound
the siren ladies in their gowns
what grows the sun
shine that is hot
and the steaming flowers
the man that tends them
dances with snakes
in billowing garments
on roads that lead to nowhere
on dangerous paths
with closed and shuttered windows
with darkness and cobweb inside