Domestication Clank

Twiddling away common-space  
by a flashlight spear to the head,  
making strokes to the roof  
its transcendence,  

the cactus holds over in puddle's dirt  
watching the rain of urban wilderness  
knock violently its acidity  
against vinyl trees.  
 
Maybe we'll meet with Thoreau  
in a squirrelly town past the window,  
but with roots undergrown,  
the anarchy of this showlight  
reflects back until the noon drops over crib bars  
raising the sky.  
 
Turned for fluorescent bulb  
and drank it into monotony.  
  
Cactus has no leaves.  
Cactus has no stem to clip  
except decapitating the center  
in the spike belly  
that hunches in dissatisfaction of electrical suns.  
 
Bend down  
even in your study across the acrid pane pesticide.  
Wonder if you'll take the next flashlight  
to a warm slabbed prairie colored bed.