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Get a copy of this writing in the Mark Fleury 2017 poetry book the Eight Wheeled Doorway of Serpent’s Head on line:

Earth Bed

Mark Fleury

Unbridled

Beds, sheeted
With a beet colored heat,

Sun-placed and moon-
Faced in the directions
Of shifting, bottomless
Sand grains,

Fall orgasmically

Like white roots
Being touched by the soil.

Bread dies here
In the mouths of birds, near
Branches canopied by trees
Whose grounded leaves

Are stuffed into air: the pillowcases
Made of the boundless, fisted wind
Of speech, skied and cried,

Dampening the tree’s bark.

The bed’s sympathy extends to the head
That carries the still pond with a surface
Full of the depth of unfallen leaves and rain,

While rain keeps the shallowness moving,
Shared with the shore

Of the pillowcase heavens
That carry sound’s shore.
God is dead on the bedroom floor
I’m leaving. The blue carpet is darkening.

That’s the dream. Awake, God’s the Body
Of the Syllable Ship whose portal
Is the third eye that now looks onto

This fossilized world.

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