((Vulcan))

The nails dig under the orange
Porcupine rind.
Acids spill into my fingers
And I stand over my shoulder.

The throb subsiding
I grab the world on both sides
And pull everything apart.
Earthquakes split the orange crust.

A somewhat painful rhythm
Developing, a wooden rhythmic thing.
What to do here now?
I need you in this family.

Interlocking wood sparkles into plastic.
Red and green shine on
All sharp sides, the forces
And collisions strive for airy heaven
With its soft clouds and loose footholds.