Touch is mouth
The lion, the width, a number
The tiger they say is burning
500 candles an instant in the eye
Fearful symmetrics, not what the classroom
Shooting hand steadies. The circus
My brother and I are
Wet fur on the neck to be carried
Forward – each circle a planted
Eye. They say bright and the lit-up
The got and the rotating cuff
In the center of the tongue a roar
Map, a road to darkness and diss
Associations can only remain if there’s
A loop – to feed, to back. If you knock
Out the point total, the sum
Of every fear in the night
You will wake up in a circle
The lips rearing round you
I am certain, this tiger thin stripe
intotheheadland 