Watching the windows sweat as the steam rises.

Simmering vegetables in the Hot Pot as the raw meat awaits it’s turn.

Outside, in the snow

Riding on a rocky river round wild ravines, raveged by rockbound shores

whilst some whispers in a foreign tongue

before sliding the raw meat into the boiling water with a pair of chop stix

and someone else laughs, quietly.

Watching a pale moon swoon over a gouged earth

The blood of he earth is so deep and hot and rarely seen

so what is water–the earth’s urine?

Do we live on the steaming wastes of a plane?

But for us, water is life

and so we use it to draw our own wastes away.

Silverlight spun up on he flat line

admiring the swift lines of silver rivers as they sparkle below.

I am remembering and aircraft ride

as they mumur in the tongue of dead kings

and put more raw flesh in the boiling water.

I remember from 30000 feet the earth reveals

in sharp relief as we tumble down the sky

towards some distant dream.

Rushing over a blood color earth like phantoms.

We fled the southlands over lunar landscapes

and dipped low over forested ravines

choked with evergreens,

hugging the coast fiercely like a green noose.